Other people's heartache
by Bookjunk
Summary: Stiles has taken it upon himself to cheer Derek up over the summer. Chapter 34: Derek grabbed his hand to guide him in the right direction and for a second they were absolutely holding hands. Then Derek seemed to realise what he was doing and quickly let go. 'You're right,' Stiles said, smirking. 'Let's not do this dirty handholding business in front of people.'
1. Walking to Oblivion

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 1: Walking to Oblivion**

'I'm bored,' Stiles complained. He rubbed the back of his head against Derek's couch and slumped further down. There was something digging into his ass, so he plunged his hand deep into the couch cushions and fished a tiny branch – or root; could've been a root – out from under him, but neatly put it back where it belonged when Derek glared.

'How is that my problem? Go bother Scott.'

Stiles shook his head. Like a dog that comes in from the rain and is out to ruin a new carpet. Not that Derek owned anything new or even remotely resembling a carpet.

'Scott doesn't have time for me. He's too busy with Kira. Wanna go see a movie?' Stiles asked. Derek didn't answer that except by snarling. Stiles sat up straight and held forth.

'The way I see it you have three options. One: you come with me to a movie. Two hours tops and you'll be rid of me. Two: I stay here, I think I can swing until one a.m., telling you all about why the last season of Battlestar Galactica is not as bad as everyone says it is. Three: you rip my throat out with your teeth.'

There was a slight pause and then the inevitable, 'I like three best.'

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled down his collar to bare his throat. No reaction. He beckoned invitingly; turning his throat to the left and to the right. He could see that Derek was thinking about getting up menacingly. Eventually, Derek sighed.

'Pick a movie.'

'Alright!' Stiles exclaimed, flipping through his phone. He paused to look up at Derek.

'Do you like Tom Cruise?'

'No.'

'Okay, not that one then.'

'We'll decide there. Let's just get going before I realize how much I don't want to do this,' Derek suggested. Stiles nodded. Not once, like a _normal_ person, but a couple of times. He couldn't help it. Not acting like an insane person: really difficult to achieve. Derek got up with an epic groan and grabbed his car keys.

'I thought we could walk?' Stiles said. 'You look like you could do with some fresh air and sunshine and exercise. Not that you don't look fit... We're walking.'

And so it came to pass.

When they arrived, Derek looked tired. Odd; since it wasn't that far. Stiles ordered two tickets for Oblivion. If Derek gave him shit, he'd just point out that if it had been up to him they would have checked beforehand what was being shown.

'It's the only movie that still has tickets available,' Stiles explained, smiling apologetically. Well, this was awkward. He didn't have enough cash. Derek produced his wallet and some sarcasm on the side.

'I wonder why that is.'


	2. Oblivion

_Author's note: Reviews are super welcome._

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 2: Oblivion**

Ten minutes into the movie.

'Well, this sucks,' Stiles admitted.

'What did you expect? It's a Tom Cruise movie,' Derek snapped. Stiles launched into a whispered, but spirited defence of A Few Good Men. Derek reacted by mocking his taste in movies and hopefully suggesting that they leave.

'I paid good money to see this,' Stiles protested, gripping his armrests to signal that he had every intention of staying.

'Correction: I paid.'

'Shush.'

The minute they'd spend arguing had apparently made them miss some vital information, because Stiles was absolutely unable to follow the movie any longer. After another few minutes he was ready to walk out too, but when he looked to the side he saw that Derek had fallen asleep. Convinced that Derek was screwing with him, Stiles watched him for a while. No dice. Derek was really asleep.

Who did that? Who fell asleep during a movie? Old people did that. I guess if you are tired, Stiles tried to reason. Except, what did Derek have to be tired about? As far as Stiles could tell, he didn't do anything. He just sat in his apartment. He didn't go out and rarely let anyone in. Stiles was the exception and he was pretty sure that this had more to do with his habit of standing on Derek's doorstep talking non-stop until the door opened than with Derek actually _wanting_ to let him in.

While he was studying Derek's face, Stiles realised that Derek was starting to look more and more like Kristen Stewart. He had dark, purple circles around his eyes. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. Also, he had a near permanent expression of boredom on his face. Lately, even his insults were incredibly weak; when he mustered up the strength to deliver them. Something was obviously wrong.

Stiles decided to let the guy sleep through the movie. It was the least he could do. He kind of wished that he could do more to help, but he didn't know what. Racking his brain for clues, Stiles glanced at the screen. Some more convoluted stuff was happening.

He focused his attention on Derek again. I should be more proactive, Stiles thought. Okay, physical needs. People needed air. Derek had that. People needed to eat and drink. Stiles was going to make certain that Derek did that. Regular, nutritious meals. Lots of water. People needed sleep. Derek was maybe getting too much of that? Unless he didn't sleep at night. That also wasn't good, but Stiles had no idea how he would go about fixing that, so he shelved that for the time being.

Next. Mental/spiritual needs. This was kind of hard to figure out considering he didn't know what exactly was wrong with Derek. Stiles repressed the urge to demand to know what was going on. Knowing Derek, yelling 'I want the truth!' at him would not have the desired effect. Derek would probably clam up.

In Stiles' completely not medical and not professional opinion, Derek needed to have fun. What was fun for Derek, though? Stiles pondered that until the credits rolled. He waited until everyone had left and then he nudged his sleeping friend awake. Derek managed to look more exhausted than he had going into the movie.

'How was the movie?' he asked.

'Eh,' Stiles responded, pretending that he hadn't been busy plotting to take over Derek's life. It was time to put his poorly conceived plan into action.


	3. Tuning in

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 3: Tuning in**

Derek's idea of a warm welcome:

'You're here again? Do you spend _any _time at home?'

Instead of being offended by that less than enthusiastic greeting, Stiles headed straight for the fridge. Not counting a jar of rancid mayonnaise and a wilted leaf of lettuce, it was empty. No wait; there was something in the back. The something moved. Stiles slammed the fridge shut and shuddered.

'When was the last time you looked in there?'

Derek gave him an uncommunicative stare. Stiles started to open and close kitchen cabinets. There was nothing edible. Unless you were a goat. Goats ate everything. Fact.

'That's it. You and me are going grocery shopping,' Stiles announced. Derek sighed. If Stiles had a nickel for every time Derek sighed when he suggested something then he would be an incredibly frustrated rich man by now.

'Can't you do it alone?' Derek asked. There was a note of petulance in his voice that was completely unlike him. It unsettled Stiles.

'Sure,' he responded with forced cheer. 'But I'm not going to. You're coming along. Resistance is futile.'

It was like taking a moody teenager somewhere. It took Derek about an hour to put on a pair of shoes. Shoes! An hour! And he bitched in a monotone the whole time. Stiles tried to remain patient, but he was getting pretty annoyed.

Was this an act? It had to be an act, right? No one was really this unengaged, this _lethargic_. Since they'd started to hang out, Stiles had not seen Derek show the slightest degree of interest whatsoever. He simply didn't seem to care. About anything. Stiles found this profoundly disturbing.

They made their way to the store without incident. Stiles threw stuff into a basket. Derek shuffled along. Stiles did his best to involve him in the act of buying food, but Derek was not cooperating.

'Tell me if I'm forgetting something,' Stiles urged. Derek nodded listlessly. At the checkout counter, Stiles piled everything on the conveyor belt and had an epiphany. Maybe a little danger would snap Derek out of his vegetative state. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of trouble available standing in the checkout line at the supermarket.

On second thought... There was a huge guy at the front of the line. He was holding everyone up by talking to the checkout girl. Stiles listened. Their conversation was more harassment than seduction. It was almost too perfect. Stiles waited until the guy opened his mouth and some more grossness came out. The checkout girl cringed.

'Spoken like a true dick,' Stiles said loudly. The guy turned around and honed in on him. His knuckles didn't scrape the floor, but it was close.

'Stiles, what are you doing? Don't piss off guys twice your size,' Derek hissed. He seemed less sluggish already. It was working.

'Why not? You're here,' Stiles replied, smiling.

'Do you have a problem with me?' the guy grunted. He was smiling too. He hadn't noticed Derek yet.

'We all have a problem with you. Stop bothering her and pay for your groceries,' Stiles advised. The guy took a step towards him. Derek tensed. Now the guy noticed Derek. For the first time in a long time, it felt to Stiles like Derek was really there. He was in the moment. Aware. Alert. He was finally operating on the same frequency as everyone else.

Once the Neanderthal suddenly decided that paying sounded like a good idea after all, though, the signal immediately wavered. The line started to move and soon it was their turn.

'Thanks,' the checkout girl said. Derek wasn't about to respond, so Stiles did.

'You're welcome.'

'Do you want my number?' she offered. It was directed at Stiles. Surprised, he glanced at Derek. Derek's eyes were glazing over again. Time to throw another spanner in the works, Stiles decided. Anything to wake Derek up.

'We're together,' Stiles explained, gesturing at Derek. The girl coloured and then offered them a tentative smile. Derek blinked, frowned and gaped all at the same time. When they were outside the store, he confronted Stiles. There was no shoving, mostly because there were both carrying groceries. Otherwise, there probably would have been shoving.

'What was _that _all about?'

Stiles shrugged.

'I didn't want her to think that I only stood up for her because I wanted to get in her pants,' he explained. Stiles watched as Derek processed that. It was so nice to have the old Derek back. If only for a while.

'You could have just said that,' Derek pointed out.

'And miss out on the hilarious face you made? I think not!'


	4. Haunt

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 4: Haunt**

One week later.

'Have you eaten yet?' Stiles suddenly piped up.

'When am I supposed to have done that without you noticing?' Derek snapped. He's got a point there, Stiles had to admit. He'd been at Derek's since the early afternoon and Derek had not moved a muscle except to get up and let him in.

'I'm hungry. Do you want to order a pizza?' Stiles proposed.

'I don't know. Am I allowed to have pizza?' Derek inquired sarcastically. This was the first indication Derek gave that he had noticed that Stiles was monitoring his food intake and trying to keep it on the healthy side. That was a good sign. Still, Derek was letting it happen. That was a bad sign.

'You're grouchy because you're hungry,' Stiles surmised. 'Some fast food will clear that right up. I'm assuming you have some takeout menus stashed away here somewhere?'

He didn't wait for an answer before going through some drawers. Most of them contained nothing. Derek had more furniture than stuff to put in or on it, which was quite an achievement, since he hardly had any furniture to speak of. Stiles threw open the nearest closet and stopped in his tracks.

'You have a TV. And it's a _beast_! Seriously, it's like a portal into another world. It has to be at least a 65 inch,' he said, gaping at the flat screen with something akin to awe. He petted it. His hand came away covered in dust.

'Cora bought it. There's a DVD player too,' Derek remarked, barely glancing up from the spot on the wall he'd been staring at for hours. At that point, Stiles was dragging the TV out of the closet.

'Well, I'm gonna put them to good use,' he replied, struggling. He tried to lift the TV. It wasn't happening. The problem wasn't that it was too heavy – though it _was_ heavy – but that its shape was ungainly. It was so big that Stiles couldn't really figure out how to hold it. He strained to get his arms around the device. When he realised that there was no way to get a decent grip, it was already too late. He'd hoisted the TV up and it was now resting on his knees. He could feel his fingers start to slip. It was either going to fall forward and shatter or slide back and crush him. Neither option particularly appealed to Stiles.

'Derek, I can't...' he grunted. Expecting zero help, Stiles resigned himself to his fate. The TV teetered and toppled. Its momentum was halted by two strong arms.

'Let go,' Derek demanded. The 'idiot' was implied, but Stiles could live with that.

Three days later.

'Stop me when I show you one that you don't completely hate,' Stiles instructed, holding up each DVD in turn. They went through them all without a word from Derek. Stiles didn't bat an eye. He simply started at the beginning again. Eventually, Derek broke down and picked a movie at random.

Stiles popped the DVD into the DVD player and flung himself onto the couch. He settled into a Stiles-shaped dent. It felt super comfortable. Less comfortable was how close they were sitting – by necessity; Derek's couch wasn't that big. It was strange to be within kissing distance of Derek without Derek objecting.

'Do you miss her? Cora?' Stiles asked out of the blue. It took a long time for Derek to respond and when he did it wasn't an answer at all.

'Aren't you due back home soon?'

'Nope, I'm all yours,' Stiles said, deciding to ignore the _that's none of your business,_ _fuck off_ attitude. It was Derek's natural state.

'Great,' Derek croaked and turned to face the screen again. Being around him was hard for precisely this reason. Derek was all negativity all the time and it got Stiles down. It also got him angry, but he was afraid that if he blew up Derek would finally throw him out and that would be the end of it. So, he took a deep breath and rallied his spirits.

'Let's talk,' he suggested.

'We don't talk.'

'What do you mean? We talk all the time. About really deep stuff too. _Deep_, man. In my head,' Stiles joked. Derek didn't react, so Stiles shut up. His overall approach wasn't as successful as he'd hoped. For one, it was getting harder and harder to get Derek out of the apartment. All Stiles' brilliant ideas involving outdoor activity had a habit of getting unceremoniously shot down. If he could just get some clue about what was going on.

Derek wasn't going to tell him. That much was clear.

Feeling kind of hopeless, Stiles looked at Derek. His head had fallen to the side. His cheek was squashed against the couch. Even so, he looked a lot better asleep than he did when he was awake. Probably because your face is supposed to be blank when you're sleeping.

Maybe there is something in the apartment that will tell me something, Stiles thought. He got to his feet without make a noise. What was the most likely place to find something personal? Bedroom. He watched Derek until he couldn't anymore. Quickly, he dropped to his knees and swiped under the mattress. Nothing. He glanced under the bed. Nothing but dust. He rolled his eyes at the open duffle bag full of clothes next to the bed. He went through it. Nothing. He checked the nightstands. Nothing there either. The closets were equally barren.

He raked a hand through his hair and contemplated the room. That visual search yielded nothing. Eventually, because he couldn't think of anywhere else to look, he peered into the gap between the bed and the wall. Bingo. Something small was stuck there.

Smashing himself against the wall, Stiles reached into the narrow space. The mortar and brick scraped his skin, but he managed to get his fingers around one corner of the object. It was a book. He yanked it out, chafing his wrist in the process.

It wasn't a book. It was a notebook. Was he holding Derek's diary? Stiles snorted. Yeah, right. Curious, he opened the tiny notebook and flipped through its pages. It wasn't Derek's diary. It was something even weirder. It was... _poetry_. Stiles began to read.

_I can't help but think of you_

_In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander_

_To some distant century_

_When everyone we know is six feet under_

_When all of our friends are dead and just a memory_

_We'll lie side by side_

_I don't want to rest in peace_

_I'd rather be the ghost that annoys you_

_I hope you can make me laugh_

_Six feet down when we're bored of each other_

'Stiles, the pizza is here. It's your turn to pay,' Derek shouted. Stiles started. He stared at the notebook in his hands. Derek will kill me if he catches me with this, Stiles realised. Panicking, he did the first thing he could think of. He pocketed it. Derek came in and eyed him warily.

'What are you doing here?'

'Snooping, of course,' Stiles confessed. A little truth always went a long way. His gaze landed on the duffle bag. He gestured at it. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

'Are you going camping?' he improvised. 'I mean, is this for real? You're almost literally living out of a suitcase.'

'You smell guilty,' Derek said.

'I feel bad for letting you have pizza twice in one week,' Stiles replied. That – again - wasn't entirely a lie.

'Hey, am I gonna get paid or what?' the pizza guy yelled. Once Stiles had paid him, Derek had devoured a slice and was working on a second. Stiles smiled and, to his surprise, Derek returned the smile. There was not a trace of sharpness in his smile.

That, right there, was why Stiles kept coming back. That was what made his effort worth it. Those rare moments when Derek roused himself from his stupor and it seemed like he actually appreciated his company. Unfortunately, those moments were few and far between. Meanwhile, Stiles had to sit at an awkward angle, because the notebook was burning a hole in his pocket.

(***)

_Author's note: I am terrible at writing poetry, so I have borrowed some. It comes from the song 'Skulls' by Bastille. The story title comes from one of their mix albums and the chapter titles are song titles from Bastille (or from something else Dan Smith is involved with, really)._


	5. Laura Palmer

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 5: Laura Palmer**

The next day.

It was warm. Unpleasantly warm. Stiles spent a few minutes after dinner just lying on his bed. Pretty soon, his shirt clung to his back. Making a disgusted noise, he got up, took a shower and changed into his fifth clean shirt of the day. He checked his watch. Derek wasn't expecting him back until seven p.m. and it wasn't even six yet. Stiles sighed.

He read the notebook from cover to cover again. He checked his watch. Fifteen measly minutes had passed.

'Fuck it,' he mumbled. Like Derek would care if he showed up early. Stiles tossed his painstakingly selected DVDs into a bag and took off.

18:38

The door to Derek's apartment was ajar.

'Derek?' Stiles whispered, easing the door further open with his foot. He peeked around the corner. He couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, so he stepped inside. A cursory check of the apartment revealed that nothing was out of place or disturbed. The only thing that should have been there and wasn't was Derek. And he couldn't have gone far without his phone or his ridiculous duffle bag full of clothes. That was reassuring.

Resisting the urge to snoop some more, Stiles made a neat stack of the DVDs. He was really looking forward to watching Twin Peaks again. Or, as he liked to call it, the show that makes Beacon Hills look like an ordinary town. He nestled into his usual spot on the couch and waited.

20:57

Stiles couldn't control his feet and fingers. They were tapping up a storm. When he also started to make a nervous back and forth movement with his torso, he decided that he'd had enough. Quickly, he wrote a note.

_Am out looking for you. Call me as soon as you get in._

_Stiles_

After a moment of consideration, he added a _please_ at the end of the second sentence. He felt queasy. That might have been the heat. Yeah, probably, Stiles thought.

He went to the woods first. That made sense, right? It was where you went if you wanted to be alone. And who wouldn't want to be alone if some stupid kid was forever forcing his company on you? Stiles shook his head to get rid of that idea. It suddenly occurred to him that Derek's disappearance might have something to do with the notebook he'd taken. Except, it had been wedged in between the wall and the bed's headboard. That seemed less hidden and more forgotten. And why, when nothing else mattered to him, would Derek give a shit about an old notebook anyway?

22:43

Anyone, let alone a werewolf, would have heard Stiles stumbling through the underbrush from a mile away. He had broken out into a cold sweat. He felt sick to his stomach and was becoming increasingly jittery. I'll never find him, he thought. Realising that he was on the verge of having a panic attack – and that he would be useless if that happened - Stiles called Scott.

'Derek is missing.'

There was a pause at the other end of the line, during which Stiles started the hike back to the car.

'What do you mean?' Scott finally asked.

'I mean that I was supposed to meet him at his place and I went to his place and he was not there. That was four hours ago. I'm freaking out, Scott.'

'I can tell. Do you think he could have forgotten?'

'I guess. But he still would have been at the apartment. He's always at the apartment.'

'Okay, not gonna ask how you know that. I'm just gonna remind you that Derek can take care of himself,' Scott pointed out. Normally, Stiles would have agreed. Right now, though, he didn't know if Derek _wanted_ to take care of himself.

'And I hate to say it, Stiles, but maybe he simply left again,' Scott added, sounding sorry for having to suggest it. Stiles shook his head, forgetting for a second that phone conversations didn't work that way. He was surprised by his own certainty. Wherever Derek was, whatever Derek was doing, he wasn't gone.

'No, he hasn't,' Stiles finally said.

'Do you want me to help you look for him? Scratch that. Where are you? I'll be there as soon as possible.'

Stiles smiled, feeling much calmer. Talking to Scott usually had that effect. Stiles' composure crumbled when he arrived back at the road and saw Derek standing at the other side.

'I found him,' Stiles told Scott.

'My offer stands. If you want me to come, I'll come.'

'No, thanks. I've got this,' Stiles answered. He ended the call. Derek looked fine. It was his smell that worried Stiles. Derek smelled sweet. At first, Stiles thought that it was alcohol. It wasn't. It was something stronger, but equally chemical.

'Stiles,' Derek called out. Then he tried to cross the road without looking. And, wouldn't you know it, a car was right there to remind him why that wasn't a good idea. Stiles couldn't move. He could only watch as the car sort of softly tapped Derek's hip. The driver didn't brake or even slow down. Derek spun, wobbled and as if in slow motion dropped to his knees. After looking left, right and left again as he was taught, Stiles hurried over to him.

He helped Derek to his feet and off the road. Inconspicuously, Stiles also tried to check his pupils. Did drugs make your pupils dilate or did they turn them into tiny pinpricks? Different drugs probably do different things, Stiles reasoned. Derek's pupils looked normal. Yet, he was definitely on something.

'Jesus, Derek. What are you doing?'


	6. Get Home

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 6: Get Home**

'What am I doing? I am... I'm exercising my rights,' Derek announced. His speech wasn't slurred or incoherent, but he didn't appear to have it entirely under control either. The volume shifted back and forth between whispering and yelling.

'I seriously doubt that what you did tonight can legally be called a right,' Stiles observed. He so very much wanted to chew Derek out for scaring him, but that wasn't exactly a priority right now.

'Are you in any pain or is your werewolf healing taking care of it?'

'I don't feel anything,' Derek droned.

'Let's get you home,' Stiles suggested. Derek balked at that.

'Which is where? My empty apartment?'

'Your apartment is gonna stay that way if you don't buy stuff to put in it. That's how living somewhere works,' Stiles remarked. He slung Derek's arm over his shoulder and started the walk back to the car. Luckily, it was a short walk, because it was rough going. The anxiety had absolutely exhausted him and all that stumbling around in the woods hadn't helped either. Plus, at least Derek had _tried _to be accommodating that time at the pool. This time around he was wholly uncooperative.

'Never mind,' Derek muttered. It was the faint trace of bitterness that alerted Stiles to the fact that they weren't simply talking about furniture. Irritated, he dropped Derek's arm and quickly snagged it back when Derek threatened to fall over.

'You are not alone!' Stiles protested. 'You keep pretending that you are, but you're not and you know it.'

They kept walking – well, Stiles was walking and Derek was doing his best imitation of a sack of flour – until Stiles realised that Derek maybe needed to have that statement clarified, since he insisted on being an idiot.

'I mean myself, by the way. I'm always there. So, your apartment isn't empty in that sense either,' Stiles added. At that, Derek lifted his head and his eyes seemed to focus on the Stiles' face. As best as they could, anyway. His eyes were bright instead of the dull shine Stiles had gotten used to. Stiles couldn't decide whether this was better or worse. Probably worse.

'Yeah, you _are_. Why? I don't get it. I don't get why you came looking for me.'

Stiles didn't roll his eyes, but, boy, did it take an effort. Just a minute ago, he'd been worried sick and now he was mostly annoyed again. It was amazing how Derek had that effect on him.

'Shut up, Derek,' Stiles huffed, managing to infuse his voice with more concern than exasperation, which was definitely not how he felt. Arriving at the car, Stiles propped Derek up against the side of it while clumsily extracting the car keys from his pocket. They drove without speaking.

At Derek's apartment, Stiles repeated the manoeuvre. After tugging Derek out of the car, Stiles held him there, pressed against the side of the car, while he locked it. Inside the apartment, Derek shrugged off his support and miraculously made it to the couch. Stiles got two bottles of water from the fridge and nearly emptied one. He set the other bottle on the table before Derek.

'Try and sleep it off, okay? I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Don't go,' Derek responded. Stiles tilted his head, because he couldn't believe this request.

'Why not?' he asked. A full minute of silence followed.

'I'd miss you,' Derek finally replied in a sugary, singsong tone of voice. It was super creepy. Suddenly, he smiled.

'Fuck you,' Stiles retorted, smiling too. He meant it, but it came out more like, 'ah, you lovable rascal!' Really though, fuck Derek for saying that while he was out of it or wired or whatever he was. Turning away from Derek, Stiles phoned his dad.

'Hi dad. Yeah, I'm at Derek's. Hey, I think I'm gonna stay here tonight, is that alright? No, nothing's wrong. Probably around noon tomorrow. See you then. Good night.'

Stiles hung up and turned around. He approached Derek, weary at the thought of having to drag him into the bedroom.

'Can you make it to the bed alone?' Stiles hopefully inquired.

'You take it,' Derek offered. Stiles must have looked pleasantly surprised – which he _was_, since it was the first genuinely nice thing Derek had said or done all week – because Derek immediately shrugged.

'I don't care,' he added.

'You do or you wouldn't have offered,' Stiles pointed out.

'I mean, I don't care where I sleep, so you might as well have the bed.'

On that uplifting note, Stiles retired to the bathroom. He peed quickly. He took off his soaked shirt and washed his face and hands. He tried to get as many twigs out of his hair as possible. Briefly, he considered taking a shower, but in the end he didn't dare. God knows what kind of trouble Derek would get into in the time it took to shower.

When Stiles entered the bedroom, he stopped at the sight before him. He hadn't given much thought to where Derek would sleep – though the couch was obviously not long enough – but hadn't expected it to be on the floor next to the bed. Derek was lying on his back, bare-chested, with his arms folded beneath his head.

'You want a pillow or something?' Stiles asked. Derek shook his head and closed his eyes. Breathing unevenly, Stiles got rid of his shoes and socks and pants. As quietly as possible, he slipped underneath the covers. He stretched out and tried to find the most comfortable sleeping position. He found himself gravitating towards the side of the bed where the chance of tripping over Derek in the middle of the night was the highest.

It was weird. Stiles was still phenomenally tired, but he knew that he was not going to sleep a wink that night. What was even weirder was that he suspected that Derek could close his eyes all he wanted, but he wasn't going to get any rest either.


	7. Tuning out

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 7: Tuning out**

The next morning.

The temperature was about the same: an oven set to baking. Stiff from a night of tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed, Stiles peeped over the edge of the bed. Derek was still in the same position. The only difference was that he had given up all pretence of sleeping and had opened his eyes.

'Get up,' Stiles ordered. 'We're gonna have a talk.'

Without waiting to see if Derek would follow, Stiles exited the room and started to prepare breakfast. He began by taking a carton of yoghurt out of the fridge and retrieving a bowl from one of the lower cabinets. He was in the middle of pouring the yoghurt into it when a bleary eyed Derek shuffled out of the bedroom. His half nakedness – light grey cotton elastic-waisted pyjama bottoms; nothing else - was highly distracting.

'Care to explain about yesterday?' Stiles asked, replacing the carton and adding a layer of muesli to the yoghurt. In the fruit and vegetable drawer – which, thanks to Stiles, actually contained both – he spotted some luscious red strawberries. He chopped them into pieces as Derek sat down. Stiles glanced at him. Derek was not there again.

'Got it out of your system?' Stiles inquired, raising his voice. Derek startled and scowled as if by instinct.

'What?' he muttered.

'I don't know. You tell me,' Stiles replied. He sprinkled the strawberry pieces into the bowl and got a spoon out of the cutlery drawer. He gave the whole concoction a good stir and slid the bowl towards Derek. Derek immediately started to eat. Stiles strongly suspected that this had less to do with Derek being hungry and more with having a handy excuse not to respond. It didn't matter. Stiles could do the talking.

'Look, you don't have to tell me. I'm probably better off not knowing, but it might be good for you. I know that sounds like I've gotten it from a TV show. Pop psychology 101: talking about your feelings helps. It's true, though. It's something about the sharing, I guess. Maybe your pride is standing in the way?'

Stiles paused there to see if Derek would take the opportunity to confirm or deny. Derek didn't, so Stiles continued.

'If you told me, I wouldn't be Stiles. I would be like just a random person and I could say that it's alright or that it's gonna be alright or whatever you'd want me to say. You know, something sort of vague and meaningless which is still somehow comforting. I think I could manage that. I'd maybe pat your back if you'd allow me and I'd say, 'there, there.' See, that means nothing, but it's kinda nice to hear, isn't it? At least, I always think it is. I mean, I don't know why you'd care what I think...'

Stiles faltered when he saw that Derek was barely paying attention. Derek still showed no signs of opening up anytime soon. Instead, he seemed to be closing down. Maybe what he needed was not TLC, but the gloves off approach.

'Okay, your bullshit ends right here. What the hell is going on with you? Tell me or I'll... keep talking. You know I'll do it,' Stiles said, suitably stern but not overly harsh. Well, that was quite possible the lamest threat ever, he thought. Under normal circumstances, going off on Derek would be relatively easy, but since reading the notebook Stiles found it nearly impossible. It was difficult to berate a guy when you knew he'd written stuff like: _every day I wake up hoping to die. _Derek trembled. It was a short, violent shudder.

'You're trembling,' Stiles observed. 'Why are you trembling? Are you cold?'

'No,' Derek replied with such vehemence that Stiles immediately dropped the subject.

'Derek, come on. I know this is not about me, but it's killing me to see you this way.'

'Why?'

'Why? _Why?_ Will you stop it with the stupid questions? Because I care! That's why.'

(***)

_Author's note: 'Every day I wake up hoping to die' is a snippet of the lyrics from the song What would you do? by City High (covered by Bastille)._


	8. Free

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 8: Free**

'Touching,' Derek scoffed. 'What else have you got? Is caring about me by any chance an up-at-dawn, pride-swallowing siege?'

Stiles didn't know how to respond, because, yeah, that was kind of what it was like. Also, what Derek had said sounded familiar somehow. Derek went on in a similar vein.

'And, let me guess, I should help you help me?' he proposed in his most insincere tone yet. It was the emphatic hand gestures accompanying the words which clued Stiles in to the fact that Derek was quoting Jerry Maguire. Stiles thought he'd better stop him before he switched movies and got to the galactically stupid speech from A Few Good Men.

'You can ease up on the sarcasm. You had me at touching,' Stiles joked. What else was he supposed to do?

'Oh, good for you,' Derek sneered. Stiles narrowed his eyes.

'What's with the hostility? Am I getting too close?'

'You're _always_ too close,' Derek interrupted in a strained voice. He sounded absolutely serious. It floored Stiles. For the first time, he considered whether he might be contributing to the problem instead of helping. Maybe while he was trying to make things better he was actually making things worse.

'Do you want me to come over less?' he suggested. In all likelihood, leaving Derek alone for an extended period of time wasn't a good idea either, but Stiles had run out of good ideas long ago, so maybe it was time to try out the mediocre to crappy ones.

'I... Yes,' Derek admitted.

'Then you've gotta step it up. Yesterday a guy with a mullet could have gotten a call to come scrape you off the road like a squirrel. If you want me to come around less often, you will have to make an effort to fix whatever's wrong,' Stiles bargained.

'I promise to do that,' Derek said. It was pretty easy to read him. Probably because he was so worn out. He was telling the truth.

'Okay, deal. As a show of good faith, I'll even leave my key,' Stiles acquiesced. Confused, Derek studied the key that Stiles handed him. Stiles patiently waited for him to catch up.

'This looks like the key to my apartment. You had a key made? Without telling me? And you're sure that I'm the one with problems?'

'Yeah, I am. See you tomorrow.'

'See you next week,' Derek countered. Stiles cocked an eyebrow.

'You realise that that's the same thing?' he inquired. 'Today's Sunday.'

'See you next Sunday,' Derek quickly amended.

'That's seven days from now,' Stiles protested.

'I know how many days there are in a week, Stiles,' Derek replied. He looked determined not to give. Less is more, Stiles reminded himself.

'Will you be okay?' he asked. The question appeared to annoy Derek disproportionally.

'I'll cope,' he snapped. It wasn't funny, because it was true.

'That's the problem. You're not supposed to_ cope_ with life,' Stiles explained. It was so messed up that Derek didn't get that suffering wasn't meant to be a person's natural state. The guy was a wreck.

'I was kidding,' Derek claimed. That was a lie. Stiles shook his head to signal that he didn't buy it for a second. Derek averted his eyes. There was nothing left to say. Stiles wanted to give Derek a big hug to last them both a week, but managed to keep his hands at his side.

_Do this and you won't have to put up with me for a while. _It was kind of an awful bargaining chip to possess. Whatever. As long as it worked.

'See you next Sunday.'


	9. Poet

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 9: Poet**

Day five. Friday.

Keeping his promise was proving to be harder than Stiles had thought. Still, he was persevering. He was kicking ass. Never mind that he hadn't slept properly for about, oh, say, five nights in a row. Never mind that every time he had to go out for anything he drove by Derek's place. Never mind that he was going crazy with worry and all that. Adversity was totally his bitch.

Stiles looked at the clock, then at the calendar, then back at the clock. He sat down at his desk and thumbed through the notebook.

'What are you reading?'

Stiles spun in his chair around, slowly, so as not to give away how much Scott had startled him.

'Oh, nothing,' Stiles mumbled. Calmly, he put the notebook away – but not too far away. Not as if he was trying to hide it, because that would arouse suspicion. He was rocking this casual shit. Or, so he thought, until Scott plucked the notebook from his desk. Stiles jumped up and attempted to get it back. Unfortunately, Scott was faster, stronger and determined. He held Stiles off without any discernible difficulty.

'Obsession it takes control. Obsession it eats me whole,' Scott read aloud. He raised his eyebrows before continuing.

'I can't say the words out loud, so in a rhyme I wrote you down. Now you'll live through the ages. I can feel your pulse in the pages.'

Stiles knew by heart what came after that.

_I have written you down_

_Now you will live forever_

It reminded Stiles of this other poem they'd talked about in class once. Something about how poems might be remembered, but the people the poems were about would be forgotten.

_The sleek throat is gone._

Yeah, that had been in there. That was a good line. Memorable. At the end, though, the poet had tried to put the object of his affection into words anyway. Or maybe he'd tried to capture a moment in time. Poetry was not Stiles' thing, but he remembered those lines.

_I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair  
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders  
And a leaf on your hair—_

Meanwhile Scott was beginning to sound more and more incredulous.

'Your body lies upon the sheet? Of paper and words so sweet? I can't say the words, so I wrote you into my verse? What's this? It's not your handwriting. Whose is it?'

'It's Derek's,' Stiles admitted. Scott was so surprised that Stiles managed to snatch the book away. He immediately dropped it into a drawer. There. Safe.

'He doesn't know I have it, so don't tell him,' he added. However, Scott wasn't there yet. He was still at the Derek-Hale-writes-poetry processing stage.

'_Derek_ wrote that?'

'Yeah, who knew, right? It's pretty good too. I mean, there's the typical doom and gloom you'd expect from a sour wolf, but there's also that. There's a ton of similar stuff.'

'Sounds like he's really into her,' Scott said.

'I'll say.'

'There's no name?' Scott asked.

'Sadly, no. And, believe me, I've looked,' Stiles responded.

'Paige?' Scott suggested. Stiles shook his head.

'I thought so too at first, but it doesn't look like teenage Derek handwriting. It's present day Derek handwriting.'

Scott narrowed his eyes, chewed on his lip and glanced at his friend.

'You don't think that it could be Jennifer Blake?'

'Don't know,' Stiles shrugged. 'That isn't what's important, though. This is.'

If he hadn't been spending time away from Derek he never would have discovered this. You had to pause and look. Once you did that, the pattern was so obvious. He opened his closet to show Scott the inside of its door. It was covered with post it notes full of tiny scribbles. It looked like the handiwork of a slightly unhinged mind.

'Whoa, what's that?' Scott exclaimed. Stiles proudly pointed out the time line he'd created.

'It's a chart I've made of Derek's decline. The notebook was a big help. My theory is that the obsession poem, the one you just read, is the first one he'd written. Well, in this notebook at least. The poems get progressively less lovey-dovey. You can clearly see the depression seeping in,' he explained.

'Is this what you've been doing all summer?' Scott asked.

'Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.'

'Dude, you have to give it back. The notebook. Wherever you got it from, you have to put it back as soon as possible. This is a gross invasion of Derek's privacy,' Scott said.

'I know. I just thought that reading it might help. 'Cause I don't know how to get to him. I say something and half the time it's like he doesn't even hear. The only time he seems to come alive is when I get on his nerves. I hoped the notebook would help me understand him a little better. But you're right. I have to return it. I will,' Stiles agreed. He didn't want to. He'd kind of gotten attached to it.

'Okay. Good. So, you think that Derek might be suffering from depression?'

Stiles nodded. The symptoms fitted. He had started to see some of Derek's previous behaviour in a different light. Like the night he had taken so many drugs that a normal human being probably would have OD'ed. Had that been a suicide attempt? Or, that same night, when he had stepped in front of a moving car. Had that been? Or when he had wondered out loud why Stiles had gone looking for him. At the time, Stiles had thought that Derek was just being an idiot, but now he was considering whether that had been a serious question. Did Derek really not get why someone would go looking for him? Stiles wasn't sure.

They were silent for a moment.

'Why didn't you ask me for help?' Scott finally asked.

'I think, because... No, I didn't think. I didn't think of it. Stupid, huh?'

(***)

_Author's note:_

_Derek's poem consists of the lyrics of the song 'Poet' by Bastille and the poem Stiles remembers is 'Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments' by Archibald MacLeish._


	10. Weight of Living, pt I

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 10: Weight of Living, pt. I**

Day six. Saturday.

Stiles poured over the notebook again. It was his last chance to do that since tomorrow he was going to have to put it back where it belonged - wedged between the wall and Derek's bed. He left it lying on his bed while he made a few small adjustments to the chart. Satisfied, Stiles nodded and closed the closet door.

'Gah!'

That was the noise that came out of his mouth when Derek emerged from behind the door. Instinctively, Stiles glanced at the notebook. He didn't mean to, but his eyes seemed to be drawn to it. As soon as he realised what he was doing he averted his gaze, but it was already too late. Derek had seen it. He went from zero to fury in less than a second.

'Is this fun for you?' Derek growled. 'Reading about other people's heartache? Did you and Scott have a good laugh at my expense?'

'It isn't like that!' Stiles insisted, giving Derek as wide a berth as possible and closing the notebook.

'You've got a lot of nerve,' Derek choked out.

'I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have taken it. I'm an asshole. There. I said it,' Stiles stammered. It didn't seem like the kind of apology Derek would accept. Honestly, it wasn't much of an apology. _I know I shouldn't have taken it, but I did it anyway_. As far as apologies went, it sucked.

'How much did you read?'

Stiles thought about lying, but decided to tell the truth. After all, that's all he wanted from Derek too.

'Everything. About fifty times,' Stiles admitted. 'Like I said, I'm an asshole.'

Derek groaned.

'For the record, and in my defence, I didn't show it to Scott,' Stiles explained. 'He caught me reading it. And we didn't laugh about it either. And it's not like I even know who the girl is. Seems to me that maybe if you told her how you felt you'd feel a little bit better? I mean, assuming you haven't already, of course.'

Derek didn't facepalm, but it was close. His hand didn't quite reach his face. It was like half a facepalm.

'You're a freaking moron. Stop making this worse. Give me that,' he ordered. Stiles handed the notebook over. Derek tucked it into the back of his jeans.

'I'm sorry. I am. But, well, it gets so hard to talk to you. What was I supposed to do?' Stiles asked, attempting to justify his behaviour.

'Leave me alone?' Derek drily suggested. Stiles shook his head.

'I can't do that.'

'Why the hell not?' Derek demanded.

'Because you're not okay!' Stiles shouted. His sudden outburst stunned Derek into silence. Stiles slowly calmed down enough to elaborate.

'You're probably the strongest person I know and you're not okay. Alright, Derek? You're not okay. And I don't understand why you won't let me help you.'

Derek was on the verge of saying something – something meaningful; Stiles was sure of it – when he said this instead:

'I'm fine. Everything's fine.'

Stiles lost it.

'Oh my God, you're so annoying! How can I make things _worse_ when they're fine? Yeah, that doesn't make sense, huh? Listen, I know that you're used to doing things alone. But that's not working, now is it? So, let's just... Let's just talk. You've gotta start somewhere. Why don't you start by talking to me and we'll see what happens. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how you're feeling. Tell me why you're carrying this sadness around.'

'I don't feel anything,' Derek said. And there they were again. Stiles was getting so tired of going around in circles and ending up at denial. Every. Single. Time.

'Did you not hear me when I said that I've read your notebook? Don't pretend you're not feeling shit,' he snapped. Derek's face hardened. He took a step towards Stiles. Stiles resisted the insanely strong urge to back away and stood his ground.

'Okay, I feel,' Derek mocked. 'I feel that if someone had punched you in the face the first time you stuck your nose where it didn't belong then we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation. That's what I feel.'

'Seriously?' Stiles exclaimed. This was ridiculous. Derek was _still_ lying. He wasn't angry. He was only pretending to be angry to get Stiles to back off.

'Yeah. In addition, I feel like I want to be the person to finally teach you to mind your own business. I really feel like that. I really feel like punching you right now. You think you know how I'm feeling? You have no idea. You think that I don't act grateful enough for your pity? Fuck you,' Derek snarled. He took another intimidating step towards Stiles, probably thinking that Stiles would back down. Not this time, though. Stiles was done being pushed aside. He was done being kept at a distance.

'Don't scare me off now,' Stiles warned. There was an edge to his voice that almost made it sound like a threat.

'I'm just trying to be your friend,' he added, softening his tone. Derek dismissed that without a second thought.

'I don't want you to be my friend.'

There wasn't really anywhere to go from there. Except...

'Fuck you,' Stiles said, clearly articulating each word. He wanted to take it back immediately, especially when Derek nodded in response. He looked smug. As if Stiles had given him exactly what he expected. Damn! This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

'I didn't mean that...'

'Don't come over. I won't open the door anymore,' Derek announced. Stiles couldn't think of a snappy comeback. His brain appeared to shut down. This was it. He had fucked it up. He had tried everything and nothing had worked. Derek was miserable and there was nothing he could do. This was it. Stiles recovered just in time to give a message to Derek's retreating back.

'I'm going to be your friend whether you want me to or not.'


	11. Weight of Living, pt II

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 11: The Weight of Living, pt. II**

Day seven. Sunday.

Stiles didn't think that Derek was going to let him in with the way things were between them, so he decided to pick the lock of the apartment. It wasn't like he hadn't broken this particular law before – breaking and entering – but he was still way more nervous than before. He didn't know what he feared more: Derek being there or Derek not being there. I won't touch anything if he isn't there, Stiles vowed. I'll just wait and rehearse my apology, he mentally added. Since their fight was at least half Stiles' fault, he had composed the best apology ever.

Derek wasn't there. That was a relief. It was also weird. Lately, Derek rarely left the apartment unless physically removed from it. So, this could be good or bad. Odds were stacked against the former.

Stiles snuck a quick peek into Derek's bedroom. The duffle bag with clothes was gone. Stiles gasped. He was fully aware that his reaction was bordering on the melodramatic, but... shit. He searched the apartment and ended up in the bedroom again. The bag was nowhere to be found.

Derek was gone. It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened, but it was definitely up there.

Feeling winded, Stiles sat down on the bed. The panic attack was in full swing before he figured out what was happening. He clawed at the sheets. He tilted his face towards the ceiling and opened his mouth as wide as he could. That didn't help. His heart was pounding like it was going to short circuit. His breaths were coming fast and hard. It didn't feel like there was any oxygen in the air he was sucking into his lungs, though. Black dots danced in his peripheral vision.

Somewhere far away a door opened and closed.

It wasn't long before he started to sweat. The instinctive drive to take in air caused him to breathe faster and faster to no avail. He slid off the bed. He was on his hands and knees when he began to cry. Oh, Jesus, don't do that, that makes it worse, he thought, but he was unable to make himself stop. His nose was starting to fill up with snot.

_I'm gonna die_ was his next uplifting thought. That was not going to happen. Stiles knew this. He also knew that the more he struggled, the more his throat would tighten. Rationally, he knew all this. Emotionally, physically, he couldn't help straining for air.

There was the sound of something being dropped on the floor.

'Stiles?'

Stiles felt a hand on his back. He looked up to see Derek's face floating in front of him. He's not gone, Stiles thought. He repeated that in the tiny head space he had left that was not occupied with his body attempting to shut down. Not that this did anything to mitigate the scheduled shutdown. So, naturally, Stiles decided that now was the perfect time for a joke.

'You know... last time... this... Lydia, she... kissed me... so... you know...'

'That's not an option,' Derek drily replied. The heat of his hand was kind of soothing. Derek's proximity, instead of twisting Stiles' nerves like a windup toy like it usually did, had a calming influence. Everything gradually slowed down. Once his heart rate had returned to normal, Stiles pushed away Derek's hand. Derek didn't appear to take offense; he seemed mostly confused.

'Was that a panic attack?' he asked.

'Yeah, it was and you caused it, you douche**!** I thought you'd split without saying anything,' Stiles ranted, pointing accusatorily at the duffle bag at Derek's feet.

'It's laundry day,' Derek explained, almost sheepishly. Stiles waited for more, but nothing came.

'And that's it? That's all you want to say to me?' Stiles demanded. Derek shrugged.

'Okay,' Stiles muttered angrily, making for the door.

'No, wait.'

Stiles sighed and turned around.

'Why?' he asked. 'What is it you want from me? You don't want to talk to me. Not about anything real, anyway. And why should you? I only care. But you obviously don't give a shit. You certainly don't like it.'

He paused, so that Derek could say something. Total silence. Wearily, Stiles eventually continued.

'I get so tired of trying to save you, Derek. I don't know why I try. I mean, I'll keep doing it, but it's like you do and don't want me around. Make up your mind.'

'I don't...' Derek said, choking up halfway through the sentence. The sudden emotion caught Stiles off guard. Derek closed his eyes and exhaled.

'I don't know. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.'


	12. Overjoyed

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 12: Overjoyed**

'You're depressed,' Stiles said. Hallelujah, he thought. He felt happier than he had in ages. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, he knew. Unfortunately, they still appeared to disagree about what exactly was the problem.

'I'm not depressed,' Derek snapped. 'Being depressed requires emotions. I lack emotions.'

'You're in love. That's a feeling.'

'No, I'm not.'

'Okay. But you've got this sadness...'

'There's no sadness, Stiles. That's all in your head.'

'But your poems...'

'We're not gonna talk about them.'

'Why not? I think they helped me understand you better. _There's a hole in my soul. I can't feel it._ That's…'

'I can't fill it. That's what it says: There's a hole in my soul. I can't fill it.'

'Your handwriting is a little… Anyway! So, you feel empty,' Stiles concluded, happy that they'd finally identified the problem. Derek shook his head.

'I don't _feel _anything.'

Stiles thought about that. He thought about Derek realising that something was wrong with him. He thought about Derek deciding to talk about it. That could mean that Derek wanted help. And that in turn implied that Derek didn't enjoy the way things were.

'That's only a problem if you want to feel something,' Stiles pointed out. Derek nodded, but didn't seem inclined to expand on that.

'Well…?' Stiles prompted.

'Maybe this is not as easy for me as it is for you,' Derek admitted. He punctuated that by calmly punching the wall with his fist. Plaster crumbled. With a straight face, Derek hit the wall again. And again. And again.

'Stop it! You're scaring me,' Stiles shouted. He pulled Derek's suddenly slack hand towards him and inspected the damage.

'Idiot,' Stiles angrily muttered, moving his fingers over the skin of Derek's hand. He is lucky that he is a werewolf or he would probably have broken every bone in his hand with this bullshit, Stiles realised.

'I can't... I don't know how I got here. I don't even know why. And I'm not good at having emotions or not having them and talking about that,' Derek explained. Stiles - his fingertips still probing and sliding over Derek's knuckles - looked up.

'Don't worry. We'll figure it out,' he said gently. Something wary flashed in Derek's eyes and he yanked away his hand with such force that Stiles almost fell over.

'What's in it for you?' Derek demanded.

'You're so cynical. I'm your friend. There are no ulterior motives. I just want you to be okay.'

'Why?' Derek asked. It was as if Derek was always asking the same question and each time it got harder for Stiles to formulate an answer that wasn't 'Because I love you.'

'Because... That's just how I feel.'

'I've got nothing to give,' Derek warned.

'That's alright. I don't expect anything from you,' Stiles replied easily. That much was true, at least. He wanted everything, but he didn't expect anything. He would take this one-sided friendship if it was all that Derek had to give.

(***)

Author's note: _There's a hole in my soul/I can't fill it_ are lyrics from the song Flaws by Bastille.


	13. Of the night

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 13: Of the night**

03:46. Monday.

He needed to run. He needed to pack his bag right now and leave and never come back. He needed to not say anything to anybody and vanish. It wouldn't solve a damn thing, of course. The problem was that he couldn't leave himself behind.

It would be best for everyone, though. Except, Stiles wouldn't see it that way. Derek balled his fists and dropped them in frustration.

What good had confiding in Stiles done? At least before, the cold had been there. A kind of winter. A thousand feet of snow obscuring who he was, covering all the mistakes he'd made. And the darkness had helped. The whiskey. The drugs. Nothing could touch him. Nothing could come near. He wouldn't let it. Now that was all wearing away and soon there would just be Stiles. Derek trembled.

It was no use telling himself that he wanted to feel everything. Everything was _everything_.

To fight is to lose, Derek thought, but I have nothing left to lose. It was a hopeful thought that didn't withstand close examination. There was always something left to lose.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. A thousand feet of snow over his heart. Melting.


	14. What would you do?

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 14: What would you do?**

05:33. Monday.

Time moves slowly when you're waiting for something. Scott was currently discovering this. He was in bed with his eyes closed, waiting for it to be not so freakishly early anymore so that he could call Stiles. Scott worried about the guy. He imagined that right now his friend was engaged in the same behaviour. With a slight variation: Stiles was probably worrying about Derek.

Waiting sucks, Scott thought, and waiting for something bad to happen was the worst. That kind of waiting could drive you crazy. And that was what Stiles was doing. Screw it, Scott decided, I'm not going to let my best friend slip into full-on insanity. He scrolled until he got to Stiles' number and pressed call.

'Hey,' Stiles said.

'Hey,' Scott echoed. 'Did I wake you?'

'No, I was up. I'm formulating a game plan on how to deal with Derek. It's tricky, because it's, you know, _Derek_.'

Scott turned onto his stomach and transferred the phone to his right hand and ear.

'You know you're the best, right?'

That earned him a snort from Stiles.

'What? You are!' Scott insisted.

'I'm the Xander,' Stiles stated. He sounded sad, which cut Scott to the bone. Also, who the hell was Xander?

'I don't know what that means, but I'm sure you're not.'

'Tiny blonde girl who stands alone against the forces of darkness? Scooby gang? Snarky male friend? Xander?' Stiles rattled off, a note of indignation creeping into his voice.

'Oh, okay,' Scott said, despite still not getting it. 'Anyway, I think it's pretty awesome, this thing you're trying to do for Derek, but being responsible for someone else's happiness is a heavy burden to bear. And you can be an emotional sponge sometimes. It has to be hard. So, promise me you'll do fun stuff too, okay? Promise me you won't spend all your time taking care of Derek,' Scott urged. Stiles didn't respond. For the longest time.

'You still there?' Scott asked.

'What would _you _do? You make time for the things you love,' Stiles finally responded. Recognising the futility of trying to persuade Stiles, Scott sighed and said goodbye. He smiled. Stiles loved taking care of people. He'd just said so. Sure, Scott belatedly realised, that is _one_ interpretation. He flipped onto his back again, gears grinding in his head.

(***)

_Today, 13:30_

_My place_

_Assemble_

(***)

11:15. Monday.

'Hi Scott. Ehm, I got this text from Stiles and it's weird,' Kira relayed over the phone.

'Assemble?' Scott guessed.

'Yeah,' Kira replied, sounding relieved. 'You got one too?'

'I'm sure we're not the only ones. I'll come and pick you up, if you want,' Scott suggested.

'That would be great, thanks! What's with the weirdness, by the way? I mean, why that cryptic _assemble_? Does that word have some special significance to Stiles? Am I missing something?'

'It just means that Stiles has seen The Avengers way too many times,' Scott chuckled.

(***)

13:30. Monday

'Hi Kira,' Stiles said. He then paused to acknowledge Scott with a nod and a solemn, 'Cap.'

Kira giggled at the greeting. Scott rolled his eyes and met Lydia's amused gaze. Her foot was tapping impatiently, as if she had been waiting for a while for their arrival. Less than a minute later, Malia strolled in, announcing her presence to the others.

'Agent Romanoff, reporting for duty.'

She accompanied her entrance with a wink at Stiles, who motioned for her to sit down. Throughout this exchange, Scott kept an eye on Lydia. The redhead pursed her lips and arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Then – when Malia was facing the other way - Stiles quickly shook his head, pointed at Lydia and mouthed 'that's you.' Looking satisfied, Lydia leaned back. A little wired – you could always tell with Stiles – Stiles addressed everyone.

'Maybe you're wondering what I've been doing all summer. Maybe not. I'm gonna tell you anyway. Derek's not doing well. He doesn't enjoy anything. He doesn't even enjoy threatening me anymore. Can you imagine?' Stiles joked. No one laughed. Maybe they all realise how serious the situation is, Scott thought. Maybe it was a stupid joke.

'I'm still trying to pinpoint what's going on exactly,' Stiles continued. 'In the meantime, I thought that it might be nice if we showed him some love. He's not everyone's favourite person, I know that, but he's pack. And at the moment, he seems to think that no one cares about him. Let's prove him wrong.'

Kira raised her hand as if this was school and she needed permission to ask a question. When she recognised the slightly ridiculous nature of the gesture, she blushed and slowly lowered her hand.

'Ehm, does Derek want our assistance?' she asked. 'Does he know that we're going to do this?'

Stiles cleared his throat.

'He's aware that I'm pathologically unable to give up on him, but I haven't told him yet that you're also going to be in on it. That's a conversation I cannot wait to have! It's an Isaac type of deal, okay? Except much more difficult because Derek is really resistant to the idea of people helping him.'

'What could possibly go wrong?' Malia muttered, quietly but still audible.

'I read somewhere that it's an illusion to think that you can fix someone,' Lydia pointed out. Stiles nodded to indicate that he understood.

'But we can help,' he responded. 'Since we lost our Hawkeye, we're a little... you know. We've all lost someone. We all know the feeling. But Derek is _here_. The least we can do is try.'

No one disagreed with that. They spent the next few hours discussing what they could do.

(***)

16:55. Monday.

Lydia had offered to drive Kira home, so Scott stuck around after the others had left. He thought he might put his newly acquired Slayer knowledge to good use.

'Hey, Stiles? You're wrong. You could never be the Xander, because you're not a dick.'

'You looked him up, huh? Dickishness aside, though, I'm the Xander. I'm the _one_ guy who doesn't contribute anything special. Everyone else does, but I'm replaceable. And please don't tell me that I'm the glue, because I don't want to be the glue. I want to be one of the parts,' Stiles ranted.

'Well, tough shit, because you're the glue and the glue is the most important part. Without you we'd all be screws and bolts and we'd be useless.'

'Screws and bolts are not held together with glue,' Stiles protested. 'Unless you're in kindergarten and building some monstrosity that your dad will try to get rid of by putting it in the trash when you're not looking.'

'Stiles, we _are_ a monstrosity. A bunch of people who wouldn't have stayed together, or even been friends in the first place, if it wasn't for you. I can't think of anyone who could do your job. _I_ couldn't. But I could bite you and you'd be able to do my job just fine. You're our Coulson.'

Stiles looked off into the distance with a hard to decipher expression on his face. Scott wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. Coulson was cool, right? Not as cool as Iron Man, but who was? And Coulson was essential. He was the heart, like Stiles was the heart of their group of misfits.

'Stiles?'

'I'm just trying to decide on the colour of the friendship bracelet I'm definitely gonna be making you. What do you think?'

I think that maybe you're in love with Derek, Scott thought. The thought surprised him, but also... not? How was that possible?

'You pick,' he answered instead. 'I'll wear it.'

'You would too. Loon,' Stiles said, laughing. Also laughing, Scott responded.

'I'd wear the shit out of that.'


	15. Blame

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 15: Blame**

Monday evening. Derek's apartment.

They'd been sitting in silence for a while now. Stiles was unsure of how to proceed after the breakthrough of the day before. Yeah, he wanted to do something, but what? Help, but how? Figuring he'd better do the stuff he actually knew how to do first, Stiles cleared his throat.

'I did a thing which maybe, _probably_, you're not going to like.'

Derek didn't react. Stiles took a deep breath and came right out with it.

'I didn't go into details, but I told the others about you. They were very gung ho about pitching in.'

Derek made no reply. He hadn't moved for the last ten minutes. Suddenly, he startled Stiles by laughing and looking up.

'You must think I'm an idiot.'

'Not at the moment, no,' Stiles cautiously joked.

'This is my fault,' Derek asserted.

'What…?'

'This!' Derek exclaimed. 'How I am. I allowed myself to get this way because I wasn't paying attention or, even worse, I did it on purpose. This is my fault.'

'Do I need to dust off my Robin Williams impression? You've gotta work with me, though. This is how it works: I say that it's not your fault and then you're all like, I know. And then I repeat a couple of times that it's not your fault and then you start to cry and we hug it out. How does that sound?'

Derek stared at Stiles like he wanted to wring his neck.

'Yeah, I kinda figured you wouldn't like that. So, how about I just tell you what I think? I don't think you did anything. Sometimes the body, or the brain, makes an executive decision without informing you,' Stiles explained. Derek frowned, so he continued.

'It's a coping mechanism. A means of protecting you. And sometimes it backfires.'

Derek looked unconvinced.

'You don't believe me? Okay, take my panic attacks. Are you saying that I _want_ to have those? Are they _my _fault?' Stiles suggested. Derek shook his head, but it was easy to read his mind. He was clearly thinking that whereas Stiles was not responsible, he himself was one hundred percent guilty. Stiles rolled his eyes.

'Okay, yeah, you're right,' he mocked. 'It's totally your fault. And then what? I leave you to wallow in self-loathing, I guess? Blame is irrelevant.'

Derek looked up sharply as if he was about to protest, but Stiles wouldn't let him.

'That is so not the issue here. It won't change anything. It's unproductive. It doesn't help. And if that's what you're choosing to focus on, we're not going to get anywhere,' he stated. With bated breath, Stiles waited for Derek's reaction. Eventually, reluctantly, Derek nodded to show that he agreed. Relieved, Stiles released the breath he'd been holding.

'Alright. Let's talk instead about when this started. When did you stop feeling stuff? Hopefully, that'll lead us to the why.'

'I don't know. It crept up on me,' Derek admitted, sounding absolutely disgusted with himself.

'Well, when's the last time you remember feeling anything?'

Derek shrugged. Stiles tried another tactic.

'Or wanting anything?'

Derek thought about that for a long time. Stiles, on the other hand, had a list of things he wanted that he could rattle off at a moment's notice: the latest gaming console, a steady position on the lacrosse team, (up until a couple of months ago) a date with Lydia, for his father to never get sick or die and so on. Derek couldn't even come up with one simple trivial thing.

'There must be something you want,' Stiles prodded.

'I haven't wanted anything for the longest time, except, maybe, to be left alone,' Derek finally said. It was sort of a joke, but also sort of not. He definitely, without a doubt needed a licensed therapist. Stiles knew that he was in no way equipped to handle this, but he also knew that the mere suggestion of actual therapy could undo the little progress they'd made. Growing increasingly desperate, Stiles resorted to what he did best: rambling.

'Come on, there's gotta be _something _you want. When was the last time you wanted something? Oh, I know! The woman you wrote about. You wanted her. Do you still feel that way? Do you still want her? Derek, seriously, what was the last thing you wanted?'

Derek stared at him in a detached, impassive way until Stiles became convinced that he was never going to get an answer. That made what Derek said next all the more shocking.

'You. You're what I wanted.'


	16. Love don't live here

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 16: Love don't live here**

'You... the... what?' Stiles stammered. Patiently, Derek reiterated.

'I wanted you. I wrote that about you.'

Suddenly, Stiles understood something that he should have gotten a long time ago: the lack of gender-specific pronouns. He opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again.

He had thought about this moment. Or, to be accurate, these _moments_. The moment when Derek finally told him the name of the woman about whom he'd written poetry and the moment when Derek confessed his insatiable desire for a certain Stiles Stilinski. One had been an unlikely but possible scenario; one had been a fever dream. And now these two moments were meeting. Reality was meeting fantasy.

To say that Stiles had pictured this a little differently was an understatement of epic proportions. All along, he'd reasoned that if he could just get Derek to spill who the object of his affection was then he could check to see whether she was still alive and not evil and maybe interested and take it from there. His reasoning had been that wanting someone and not doing anything about it was a form of self torture. Same with hanging on to unrequited feelings.

'I'm not kidding,' Derek offered.

'When are you ever kidding?' Stiles replied. 'Why didn't you say anything?'

'I didn't see the point.'

Stiles shook his head. Focus! Whatever Derek had felt for him wasn't important. This is not about me, Stiles knew. This was about Derek and what he needed right now. Note also the past tense, Stiles thought.

'Okay, what happened? You said you wanted me. I'm assuming that means that you don't want me anymore. What changed?'

'Everything stopped. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm empty of the love I had for you,' Derek dryly explained.

Stiles' heart practically stopped. Oh my God: love! This was like, _whoa_. Derek had loved him. Derek frigging Hale had loved him. Slowly, Stiles wrestled himself back to the here and now.

'Is it because you're really wary of love? I wouldn't blame you if you were, by the way. Your girlfriends have a habit of turning out to be, well, psychopaths,' Stiles bluntly pointed out. His voice was slightly higher than normally, but otherwise he had himself firmly under control.

'That's not it,' Derek objected.

'Then what?'

Furrowing his brow, Derek considered that. It took a while. A while during which Stiles repeatedly had to remind himself to calm the fuck down.

'I don't trust love. That's true. But it's not because of my bad experiences. It's because love is fickle. It's there and then it's gone,' Derek explained. He looked surprised by what he was saying. Probably not by the content of his words, Stiles realised, but more by the fact that he was actually saying them out loud.

'So, you're just gonna avoid love at all costs? What kind of philosophy is that?' Stiles asked. It was a stupid philosophy, clearly. Derek shrugged.

'That's so like you,' Stiles scoffed. 'Yeah, you love until you don't. And the end is always far less fun than the beginning. From the sting of rejection to the messy ending, love can hurt. Not disagreeing with you there. It can definitely feel like that. But it doesn't have to. As always, you're looking on the not-so-bright side.'

Maybe it was Stiles' less than gentle tone or maybe Derek was just growing bored of the topic.

'I don't wanna discuss love with you,' he snapped. 'Or with anyone, really. I don't want to discuss this. Period.'

Stiles smiled at that and patted Derek's knee.

'You don't get things your way anymore, remember? No feelings equals no betrayal: is that how it went? Was that the start of it?'

'I guess it _is_ better when you don't care,' Derek reluctantly admitted.

'Why?'

'You don't care; you don't get hurt. It's that simple.'

And that was it, wasn't it? Stiles thought that maybe it was. Derek had been tired of getting hurt, so he had stopped caring. Obviously, a real therapist would uncover a much deeper, underlying reason for Derek's current state. Childhood trauma, probably. Still, Stiles felt like he was doing a pretty good job.

'But if you don't care, nothing means anything,' he emphasised. 'Not caring doesn't only eliminate hurt, of which I'm not convinced by the way, but it also takes away enjoyment. If you don't care, you can't enjoy things. You don't get the pain, but you don't get the pleasure either.'

'It sounds an awful lot like you're calling me an idiot,' Derek muttered. Well, if the shoe fits, Stiles thought. Some of that must have shown on his face, because Derek scowled.

'I don't buy this. People fall out of love all the time,' he argued.

'The problem isn't that you're currently incapable of loving someone romantically. That's a symptom of a much bigger problem. You've lost the ability to love. Love isn't just romance. It's also friends. It's family. It's loving things. Like, food or a new TV show. And loving doing things. Like, the feeling you get when you wake up and it's weekend and you've got nothing planned and you don't have to get out of bed just yet. It's all these other amazing things that make life worth living and that you're missing out on.'

(***)

Monday night. Derek's apartment.

'Hi dad. Something I probably should have mentioned sooner, but I'm helping Derek with something. No, it's nothing like that. Just… friend stuff. It sort of requires me to spend the night. Yeah, I remember. It's around nine, right? Okay, I'll be there. Bye. Oh, and look out for those bed bugs. They're sneaky.'

By the time Stiles concluded the phone call with his dad, Derek had already assumed his position on the floor.

'You know, I should keep a toothbrush here. And a pair of pyjamas. Some fresh clothes. I should get a drawer. Hell, I should get all the drawers. You don't put anything in them, anyway,' Stiles narrated his train of thought from the bathroom. An extra mattress would be nice too, so Derek didn't need to sleep on the – no doubt uncomfortable - floor. Stiles exited the bathroom in the process of tugging off his shirt and caught Derek looking.

'You wanna see if we can reignite some of that old lust?' Stiles suggested, grinning. Derek reacted by throwing a balled up, sweaty shirt at Stiles' face.

'Hey, it could happen!' Stiles protested, laughing. Derek smiled one of his rare smiles. It was there and then it was gone. Like how Derek thinks love works, Stiles thought.

'In your dreams,' Derek responded. Little did he know that this was exactly what Stiles had in mind.


	17. Dreams

_Warning: Rating changed to M_

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 17: Dreams**

Without making a sound, Stiles got out of bed. The floor felt hot under his bare feet. Stealthily, Stiles approached Derek and kneeled next to him. He hesitated briefly before touching Derek's shoulder. Derek stirred, but didn't wake. Stiles slid his hand across Derek's shoulder to his neck and placed it on the curve where shoulder meets neck. Where vampires usually bite their victims. The skin there was softer than expected. Stiles caressed it with his fingertips. Derek sat up.

'Stiles, what…?' he mumbled.

'Shhh,' Stiles whispered, sliding his palm down Derek's chest and across the rippling muscles of his abdomen. When he was about to slip his hand into Derek's boxers, Derek grabbed his elbow. Stiles leaned in and his lips brushed against Derek's mouth. Slowly, Derek relaxed his grip. Stiles gently broke off the kiss, reached into Derek's boxers and took out his dick. Derek tensed.

Stiles leaned forwards and hungrily claimed Derek's mouth again. The fingers on Stiles' elbow tightened and Stiles became newly aware of the weight and warmth in his palm. He pulled away to look at Derek's dick and, carefully, formed a fist around it.

Expectantly, Derek leaned backwards, supporting himself by placing his palms flat on the floor behind him. Smoothly, Stiles moved his hand down. Derek exhaled roughly, as if in surprise. Stiles repeated the motion. Derek didn't make a sound. Stiles looked up to discover that the werewolf was biting his lip to keep quiet. A light sheen of sweat had developed on his torso.

Stiles twisted the fingers of his other hand into the short hair at the back of Derek's neck. He brought Derek closer and reunited their mouths. Suddenly, Derek pulled Stiles into his arms. Clutching Stiles' back, he rested his chin on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles nipped at the slippery skin below Derek's ear while his hand worked fast in between them. Derek's body was growing hotter and hotter. His breaths came shallow and shaky until he softly groaned and shuddered.

'You've got six fingers on your right hand,' Derek pointed out.

'Yeah, I know,' Stiles said, before jerking awake with a massive boner. He touched himself and let out a low moan. He was so hard that it was almost painful. With dawning horror, Stiles realised that he couldn't even go to the bathroom to take care of this. There was no escaping Derek's super hearing and super smell.

Go away, Stiles thought at his erection. Go down, he willed, to no avail. Suddenly, the sheets vanished. He froze. Derek, with one hand still holding up the sheets, stared at Stiles' tenting boxers.

'Can I?' Derek asked. Please, let this not be dirty dream #2, Stiles prayed. He counted his fingers and cursed. It was like Inception. Oh well, better than the dream where all my teeth fall out, he reasoned. He nodded and gasped when Derek's hand closed around his erection. Correction: _way_ better.


	18. We can't stop

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 18: We can't stop**

Tuesday morning.

Stiles woke up and just lay there for a few minutes. He needed the time to recover. Those dreams had been something else. This was not a dream, though. The light was too harsh. The bed was too hard. The only thing that seemed like it came straight out of a dream was the sight of a half-naked Derek sprawled out on the floor.

Apprehensively, Stiles checked the sheets. No mess. No nothing. Thank God for that. He picked up his phone and read the time. It was a little before eight. Scott will be here around half past, Stiles realised. He calculated that, if they hurried, they would have just enough time for a light breakfast.

'Derek?' Stiles croaked. His voice always needed longer to adjust than the rest of him. Derek groaned, grimaced and opened his eyes. After a second, he rolled onto his side and faced his live-in amateur therapist.

'Good morning,' Stiles said. Derek made a face. _That remains to be seen_ was clearly etched all over it. Stiles kind of agreed, but still. It wasn't as if he'd shouted 'Top of the morning to ya!' or something. Good morning was a standard greeting. Just a thing people said. No need to make faces. Great, now I am crabby too, Stiles thought. He announced that he was borrowing one of Derek's shirts and that Scott would be there in half an hour.

'He's coming to take you for a run. The exercise will be good for you. And you could probably use a little vacation from me,' Stiles reflected while getting dressing.

'You want breakfast?' he added. Derek shook his head. See, if this had been a dream, Derek would have said, 'No, I want you' and then amazing stuff would have happened. But it was not a dream. It was reality and Derek was not a happy-go-lucky person under normal circumstances. And these were not normal circumstances, because it was morning: the dreaded beginning of a new day. The time when Derek was at his most irritable.

Not that Stiles blamed him. If he woke up every day hoping to die only to find himself vexingly alive over and over again, he was sure that he would eventually begin to find that very trying too.

'You probably run better on an empty stomach, huh? We'll eat when you get back,' Stiles decided aloud. Secretly, he was relieved to get a break from Derek. It would take a long time to get over those dreams. Possibly years.

(***)

Still Tuesday morning. The Stilinski house. Ten-ish.

Two guys living together equals a dirty house, Stiles thought, cleaning out the last of the fridge. Except maybe if they're gay, he amended pensively. Though, I am kind of gay and so is Derek and neither one of us is very tidy, so that's not true either, Stiles realised. He was still trying to wrap his head around that when Scott arrived.

'And? How does he seem to you?' Stiles inquired, handing Scott a bottle of water before starting to reload the fridge. Scott raked a hand through his hair.

'Honestly?' he asked. Stiles snorted.

'No, lie to me, Scott. Yeah, honestly.'

'Not all that different,' Scott admitted. 'He's quiet, but he's not a talker. Maybe he's a little down, but Derek is a pessimist by nature. He seems kind of the same to me.'

Stiles nodded at that. He'd suspected as much. The change in Derek was not immediately obvious. You really needed to spend time with the guy to notice, so it made sense that Scott wouldn't have spotted it.

'His scent is different, though,' Scott mentioned. His interest properly piqued, Stiles got his head out of the fridge and faced his friend.

'Different how?'

'His usual scent is… industrial. Like oil and smoke and paint. A little chemical. As if you're walking through a factory,' Scott described. That definition clearly didn't satisfy him entirely, but it was close enough.

'Derek's emotions are like metal shavings,' he continued. 'You can't _really_ smell those, of course, but normally there's a faint trace of something like them in the air around him. Today, I didn't sniff anything remotely metallic on him.'

'So, no emotions?'

'None that I could detect, but I always have trouble with Derek. The scent of his emotions is just not very strong.'

That supported Derek's statement that he wasn't feeling much of anything these days. Stiles didn't know whether to be glad that Derek had told him the truth or sad about the state Derek was in. He settled on a little bit of both.

'Okay, I'm done here. Let's go,' Stiles said, quickly washing his hands and drying them on his jeans. That was when his dad appeared.

'You're not going anywhere,' the sheriff told him.

'A week's worth of chores: finished! Seriously, check. I want you to admire my work,' Stiles boasted. He opened the fridge and nodded at its shiny insides. The sheriff ignored the gesture entirely.

'Scott here tells me that he's barely seen you all summer. I know the feeling. What's this situation with Derek that is taking up all of your time? You already told me it's not supernatural.'

Stiles clicked his teeth and considered how much he should say. Definitely nothing about Derek wanting him. Definitely also nothing about wanting Derek right back.

'Ehm,' Stiles fumbled. 'Derek's existence is pretty joyless at the moment. He's lonely and sad and I'm helping him. Trying to get him to enjoy his life again, you know? That's all.'

The sheriff beamed.

'I'm so proud to be your father,' he stated. Embarrassed, Stiles scratched the back of his head.

'I'm just making sure that he's alright. He's our friend. We need him, so it's really not that big a sacrifice,' he explained, subtly avoiding eye contact with his father. Instead, Stiles' eyes landed on Scott, who looked incredibly entertained.

'Can you do some of that helping over here?' the sheriff suggested. Stiles nodded.

'Sure,' he immediately agreed. Just let me get the hell out of here, he thought. God, it was so awkward to be praised for something any one of his friends would do for him. He headed for the door. It wasn't until he was safely outside that he became aware of Scott's stare. His best friend was still sporting that same amused expression.

'What?'

'Oh, nothing,' Scott replied. 'I just find it funny how you said 'we,' as if we all need Derek like you do. As if it's not just you who has a huge crush on him.'


	19. Requiem for blue jeans

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 19: Requiem for blue jeans**

'_Oh, nothing,' Scott replied. 'I just find it funny how you said 'we,' as if we all need Derek like you do. As if it's not just you who has a huge crush on him.'_

Stiles sighed.

'You know me so well,' he lamented.

'Does that scare you? That it's Derek?' Scott asked. Stiles, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand, shook his head.

'I'm not afraid of my feelings. I'm not even afraid of Derek. I'm afraid _for _Derek. I mean, the guy's a complete mess.'

(***)

Derek's apartment. Wednesday morning. After nine.

Stiles woke up with a start. There was someone in the closet. Derek wasn't on the floor anymore, but Stiles couldn't think of a single reason for him to be in the closet. Cue lame gay joke, he thought. The fact remained that there was someone – something, whatever – in the closet and there wasn't supposed to be anything in there.

'Who's in there?' Stiles politely asked. It was considered good form to warn possible monsters. Give them time to prepare their claws and so on. God, he was an idiot.

'Stiles! It's me. Kira,' was the muffled reply. How had she gotten in there without him waking up? Must be those fox genes. Nearly tripping over his feet in his haste, Stiles put on some clothes.

'Why are you in there?'

'Lydia said to check the closet for clues,' Kira informed him, poking her head out.

'Something about how she almost always feels better when she looks good,' she elaborated, staring at the contents of the closet.

'I'm not really sure what I'm doing, though, to be honest. Should I verify Derek's size? See what his taste in clothes is? I'm not good at this sort of stuff. _Fashion_. His clothes are mostly black. Is that helpful?'

Stiles shrugged. Voices could be heard from elsewhere in the apartment now. Leaving Kira to her unenviable task, Stiles went in search of Lydia and Derek. When he stumbled upon them, Lydia was sitting behind a laptop bickering with Derek about the colour of his clothes. Lydia briefly glanced up when she saw him enter.

'We're starting small,' she quasi-explained, before going right back to arguing with Derek.

'Don't give me that nonsense about it being dark blue. It's clearly black. You can't wear all black,' she declared.

'Why not?' Derek whined, protectively crossing his arms in front of his chest. He had elected – surprise, surprise! – to wear a dark shirt and dark jeans. In the right light, if you squinted, that shirt _might _have been dark blue, but Stiles had to side with Lydia on this one. It definitely looked black.

'Because I say so,' Lydia replied.

'I like black,' Derek muttered mutinously. Lydia rolled her eyes at that.

'I'm sure you do. I'm also sure that I don't care,' she responded. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. When Stiles looked over her shoulder, he saw that she was putting an assortment of light blue shirts in an online shopping basket. She hesitated a second before putting a dark blue one in there too.

'Aren't they supposed to be nice to me?' Derek implored Stiles. He sounded amused.

'They are not,' Lydia answered. 'Now, we're getting you several new shirts. One of them is black, oh, excuse me, _dark blue_. Nice enough for you?'

'I like black,' Derek petulantly repeated. He is enjoying this, Stiles realised.

'And it looks good on you,' Lydia agreed in a soothing tone of voice. 'As does every other colour on the planet. So I'm gonna get you a couple of green ones too. They'll go nicely with your eyes.'

Lydia clicked the items she wanted, while ignoring Derek's satisfied smirk. He really is enjoying himself, Stiles marvelled. That was good. Though, how far gone had Derek been that having Lydia berate him suddenly qualified as fun?

'Let's talk about pants,' Lydia announced.

'Can I at least wear blue jeans? Or should I just go ahead and compose a requiem in honour of their passing?' Derek mocked.

'Your blue jeans are safe,' Lydia remarked, before noticing that Stiles was watching them with considerable interest.

'What are you still doing here? Go and have a life,' she urged. Stiles nodded. An integral part of the plan had been that the others would take Derek off his hands, so that Stiles could do normal summer vacation stuff. Right now, though, he found himself absolutely unable to think of anything he wanted to do except be here watching Derek smile and be somewhat happy.

(***)

Derek's apartment. Thursday evening.

They were discussing… not much of anything, really. Derek was being exceptionally uncooperative and Stiles was just tired. It has been a long week, he thought; for both of us.

Earlier that day, Malia had visited and she had insisted on sparring with Derek. Stiles had miraculously managed to keep from drooling. Between the close proximity and the constant heat – which meant that Derek's beautiful arms were almost permanently on display – Stiles was slowly being driven to madness. Plus, it was hard to concentrate on important, healing topics when Derek was so obviously distracted.

'How many times a day do you brush your teeth?' Derek suddenly inquired. He looked annoyed. Even more than usual.

'Have I got bad breath?' Stiles asked, exhaling against his hand.

'You've got the opposite of bad breath. I can smell the minty freshness from over here,' Derek complained. He complained about odd things.

'That's for you. In case you decide that you want me again.'

Derek frowned.

'You're not funny,' he pointed out.

'I'm not trying to be. We could be making out right now. Any time you feel like it, just let me know,' Stiles offered. Was he joking? He didn't even know anymore.

'Will do,' Derek deadpanned.


	20. The draw

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 20: The draw**

Friday evening. Stiles' room.

Derek is going to kiss me, Stiles thought. Stiles could see what was about to happen from miles away, yet he did nothing to stop it.

It began with Derek smiling. He had a lot to smile about, of course, since Stiles was 300 percent sure that he looked absolutely ridiculous. It wasn't a ha-ha-you-are-an-idiot kind of smile, though. It was an I-am-about-to-kiss-you smile.

'What?' Stiles asked. Derek rolled onto his side and at the same time closer to Stiles. Derek propped himself up on his elbows on the bed. He took his time about every little thing he did. Stiles waited. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Derek bridged the last few inches that separated them.

And then they were kissing.

(***)

That morning. Derek's apartment.

The day started out as any other day lately. Stiles hadn't slept a lot and the few times he had managed to drift off he had dreamed about Derek. Damn me for making suggestive comments right before we have to go to bed, Stiles chided himself. That wry 'will do' of Derek combined with his breathing, the outline of his fine, _fine_ body on the floor and the improbable but not impossible possibility that he had been serious had kept Stiles awake for most of the night.

Maybe neither of them had slept very well, because Derek was cranky - possibly due to lack of sleep, possibly due to innate Derekness - so Stiles mostly let him be. They watched cartoons side by side on the couch. Occasionally, Stiles would catch Derek looking at him.

'What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?' Stiles would say, but Derek never answered, so eventually Stiles gave up trying to get an answer out of him. This was apparently just another thing Derek did these days. He complained about Stiles' fresh breath and looked at him in an unnerving manner. Oh well, Stiles thought; could be worse.

(***)

That afternoon. The Stilinski house.

It had taken a great deal of coaxing, but Stiles had gotten Derek to move their operation over to the Stilinski house. Derek wasn't happy about it, but Derek wasn't happy about anything currently, so Stiles told him to suck it up.

Stiles occupied himself by doing some reading. Some of it for school. Some of it werewolf related. Derek sat around, dividing his time between scowling and staring at Stiles. Stiles took to winking whenever their eyes locked. Derek didn't seem to like that, but since he didn't like anything at the moment, Stiles didn't let that bother him. He had gotten to the point where Derek's disapproval slid right off him. It was a nice point to be at.

'You don't do much of anything, do you?' the sheriff asked when he came home.

'We just hang out,' Stiles admitted. He thought that with his dad there, Derek would ease up on the staring, but Derek kept right on going all through watching the news and eating dinner.

(***)

That evening. Stiles' room.

Since Derek seemed to be getting kind of bored with their therapy based hanging out time, Stiles suggested doing something else that evening.

'We don't always have to talk. We could do something fun. It's weekend. Let's do a Tom Cruise movie marathon!' he decided.

'How's that fun?' Derek said. Stiles zeroed in on him and his all-encompassing dislike.

'Did you like Tom Cruise movies before your robot-zombie phase?'

'No one likes Tom Cruise movies.'

'Someone should make a movie about us, because half the stuff that comes out of your mouth is incredible,' Stiles marvelled. 'Cue gritty voice over: _In a world where no one likes Tom Cruise movies, one man sets out to prove a sourwolf wrong. This time, unlike all those other times, it's personal. _Maybe you just haven't been watching the right movies.'

'There are no right Tom Cruise movies.'

'I could see how someone like you wouldn't like Cocktail, Days of Thunder or Top Gun. You wouldn't recognise their value. I mean, the Top Gun volleyball scene is like the definition of camp. Its over-the-top masculinity veers into cheesy homoeroticism, which is pretty awesome especially because it's completely unintentional,' Stiles explained.

'No one likes Tom Cruise movies,' Derek repeated, stubbornly. Stiles ignored that.

'And you probably wouldn't like the sci-fi-y stuff either. Edge of Tomorrow. Minority Report. Oblivion, _obviously_. Not for you. Then you've got his vaguer stuff. Eyes Wide Shut. Magnolia. Vanilla Sky. Artsy films. Not for Derek, I'd guess. That leaves plenty of excellent movies, though. Most really good Tom Cruise movies start out with him being an arrogant dick who slowly transforms into a nice guy and, hey, maybe that nice guy was lurking underneath the entire time!'

'Sometimes people are just assholes,' Derek objected. Sometimes Derek said things like that. And Stiles knew what he meant. Derek didn't mean 'humanity sucks.' Derek meant 'I'm an asshole.' The worst thing was that, because Derek never said it explicitly, Stiles couldn't call him on it and was forced to wait him out. Minimal reaction, mild reproach: that was the best remedy.

'Now, don't start.'

'People are assholes,' Derek reiterated.

'Shut up, Derek.'

'But, no. People are not allowed to be assholes anymore. They need to reform. They need to see the error of their ways,' Derek sneered, pausing to gauge Stiles' response. Stiles yawned.

'Are you done?' he asked. Derek nodded sharply.

'Born on the fourth of July is also really good,' Stiles continued. 'Unfortunately, it is also really depressing, so we won't be watching that one.'

Finally, he decided – without any help from Derek whatsoever – that they were going to watch Tropic Thunder, Jerry Maguire and Risky Business.

'Not your beloved A Few Good Men?' Derek mocked.

'We're going to watch that another time, when you're in a better frame of mind, because it's perfect. For now, I thought we'd stick to comedies,' Stiles confessed, which brought back Derek's staring with a vengeance.

Derek's reaction after the first movie:

'He wasn't even in this one!'

'Except he totally was,' Stiles corrected.

'You're lying. Who then, huh? Who did he play?'

'I'm not gonna tell you.'

Derek's reaction before the second movie:

'I already saw this one.'

'Really? You saw this before?' Stiles asked.

'Cora likes how completely unhinged Tom Cruise is at the start.'

'Yeah, I don't think he's acting,' Stiles muttered.

Derek's reaction to Stiles' request before the third movie:

'What?'

'Take off your pants. Leave your socks on. You can't watch Risky Business without re-enacting the famous sliding scene,' Stiles insisted. Derek didn't move a muscle from his position on the bed.

'I can and I will.'

'You get to keep everything on except your pants. That's more than you usually wear at night,' Stiles pointed out.

'Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?'

'Yeah!' Stiles exclaimed, exasperated. 'I'm not exactly being subtle.'

'What if I've decided to go commando today?' Derek said. Stiles gaped before he realised that Derek was screwing with him.

'I'm gonna do it and you'll feel stupid,' Stiles warned.

'Yeah, _I_ will be the one who feels stupid,' Derek countered.

The sheriff's reaction when entering just as Stiles was in the middle of a flawless slide accompanied by Bob Seger's That Old Time Rock and Roll:

'Son, what on earth are you doing?'

'Risky Business,' Stiles offered, by way of an explanation. The sheriff nodded.

'Ah,' he said, before stepping back and closing the door again.

Derek's reaction to Stiles lying on the bed next to him, basking in the glow of a perfectly executed slide:

A kiss.

Still, despite knowing that this was going to happen, Stiles managed to be surprised. He touched Derek's cheek; stroking the strong jaw with the tips of his fingers. The kiss lasted an indeterminable amount of time. Seriously. Seconds, minutes, hours? Stiles couldn't tell. Inconspicuously, he tried to flex his fingers, but - since they were on Derek's face – Derek noticed and pulled away a little to look at him.

'You think this is a dream?' he asked.

'Well… _yeah_.'

'It's not.'

'I'm starting to realise that.'

'You said any time,' Derek reminded him.

'I know what I said,' Stiles answered. He also knew what was going to happen next: he was going to kiss Derek. It wasn't much of a prediction, since Stiles was going to be doing it. He slowly leaned in and kissed Derek, only to break off the kiss almost immediately.

'Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop! You're not you yet,' Stiles protested. And that was the end of the kissing. Stiles decided that this was a good thing, because even in his post-kissing state he could see that this was a very bad idea.

(***)

Friday night. Stiles' room.

'Do you like who you've become?' Derek asked. He was still in the bed. Stiles was on the floor. Stiles had been pretending to be asleep, but apparently he wasn't fooling Derek. No, Stiles thought, I don't like to be a guy who kisses vulnerable, lonely werewolves. Derek wasn't really asking, though. Stiles thought that he recognised the question for what it was: an opening remark.

'If you're gearing up for another one of your delightful everyone's-an-asshole speeches then I'm going to sleep downstairs,' he threatened.

'Forget it,' Derek mumbled.


	21. Icarus

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 21: Icarus**

Still night.

Derek had dozed off. Either that or he was really _really_ good at faking a slight snore. Stiles, on the other hand, was wide awake - as he was most nights nowadays - because: Derek. Right there.

Anyway, Stiles thought, tearing his gaze away with considerable difficulty. Anyway, what had he been thinking? Something about not liking himself? There was a sound just then interrupting his thoughts. It was the sound of someone on the stairs. Someone who wasn't Stiles' father, because Stiles knew the cadence of those footsteps by heart and these were different. There was a little bounce in the step of whatever-it-was that led Stiles to suspect that he maybe knew this particular intruder.

Stiles slipped out of bed, grabbing a baseball bat from under the bed just to be sure. After all, it could be a burglar, he thought. Well, could be anything, really. A smoke monster. A BOB. The first evil.

Luckily, he had a werewolf handy. If his trusty bat failed to take care of the supernatural, all Stiles had to do was shriek and Derek would be up in a second. That was a comforting thought. Everyone should have their own werewolf, he thought, pausing to look at Derek. The look turned into a stare and he lost his train of thought again until finally the door opened of its own accord. Stiles raised the bat and almost swung it right in Scott's face. Fortunately, Scott's amazing reflexes saved the day. Seeing that Scott was about to say something, Stiles held a finger to his lips.

'Shh, Derek's sleeping,' he whispered. Scott glanced past him and raised an eyebrow when he saw that Derek was doing this sleeping in Stiles' bed.

'Are you two sleeping together now?' Scott whispered back. Stiles shook his head and motioned for Scott to retreat. Out in the hallway, Stiles carefully closed the door.

'Let's go downstairs. Quietly. He sleeps in my bed; I sleep in his bed. It's part of our arrangement,' Stiles explained, keeping his voice low.

'Sounds… stupid.'

'Keep walking,' Stiles urged. 'We have to get further away or he'll hear.'

'Then don't say anything you don't want him to hear,' Scott replied, rationally. Yeah, would that I could, Stiles thought. If only life were that simple. He steered Scott all the way down the stairs. By now, Stiles' best friend was giving him that old standby: a look of grave concern mixed with amusement.

'By the way, Derek _just_ climbed out of the window,' Scott dryly informed him. Stiles waited for Scott to start laughing – anything to indicate that this was a joke – but it simply didn't happen. Stealthily, Stiles ran back into the house with Scott at his heels. They found the bed empty and Derek gone. Stiles peered out of the window, but there was nothing there except darkness.

He glared at Scott as if this was Scott's fault. Which it kinda is, Stiles reasoned. Okay, not at all, he mentally admitted. He called Derek and Derek picked up. Stiles' relief was short-lived, however, because Derek immediately hung up without saying anything. Stiles tried again. Same result. Stiles sucked in his breath.

It was the kiss, of course. It had to be the kiss, right? Why'd he have to go and do something dumb like that? Not only had he let it happen, not only had he let Derek kiss him, but to then also kiss him back… Oh my God! Could he have screwed this up more thoroughly? No. No, he could not. He couldn't have screwed this up more utterly and completely if he'd planned it.

'What's wrong?' Scott asked. He probably sensed that a full-on freak-out was in the works.

'What's wrong? I was overconfident and I got too close and, damn it, maybe I really lost him now,' Stiles said, already starting to hyperventilate. Scott placed a hand on his shoulder and Stiles allowed himself to be led to the bed.

'Explain it to me. Slowly,' Scott urged, sitting down next to him.

'Okay. Okay, I can do that. Derek kissed me, which, yeah, I know...'

'Makes sense,' Scott filled in.

'Does it?' Stiles inquired. Because it really didn't make sense to him. None of it did. Scott rolled his eyes.

'He has a thing for you. Come on, Stiles. I don't see him letting himself be bullied into stuff by anyone else.'

'You should have seen him with Lydia,' Stiles argued. Scott dismissed that.

'He wouldn't even open the door for any of us if you weren't for you.'

'True,' Stiles admitted.

'So, he kissed you. The attraction is clearly mutual. Yay. Then what happened?'

'Then I kissed him. That was it. And now he's gone.'

'Could be that he's still into the woman from the poems,' Scott suggested.

'Funny thing: turns out that the woman from the poems is me. Yeah, get this: before he went numb, Derek apparently wanted me,' Stiles told Scott, laughing at his friend's baffled expression. Scott took a second to process that before responding.

'This is all good. I don't understand...'

'I shouldn't be kissing him, obviously! He's not himself. Me declaring my undying love for him is like the opposite of what he needs right now.'

Scott smiled.

'See, this is why you're the best.'

'Can we stop it with the praise?' Stiles snapped. 'Yeah, I'm in love with Derek and, yeah, I'm helping him. The two are not connected. I don't wanna fix him just so that I can get with him. It's not like that. He's my friend first.'

'I wasn't implying…' Scott began, startled.

'No, I'm sorry. I know you're not. It's just… Saying 'I love you' is like making a demand,' Stiles stated. He saw that Scott was already frowning, so he hurried along.

'I don't think anyone has ever said it without wanting, hoping, _whatever_ that the other person would say it back. So, when you say 'I love you' you're basically saying 'love me back,' Stiles elaborated.

'That's a really cynical way of looking at it,' Scott pointed out. Stiles nodded.

'Which is why that is _exactly_ how Derek is going to interpret it. As if I want something in return,' Stiles asserted. Scott conceded that Stiles had a point. They sat side by side on the bed for a while. Dawn was on its way. The sun's first rays snuck into the room, painting the ceiling a dusty pink. Stiles sighed and looked at Scott as if seeing him for the first time.

'It's super early. Why are you here, anyway?'

Scott was about to answer when Stiles received a text. It was from Derek.

_Full moon is coming. I'll handle it on my own._

Stiles' reply:

_Like hell you will. Where are you?_

'Since when is full moon something Derek has to _handle_?' Stiles asked Scott.

'That's why I'm here,' Scott responded. 'To warn you. Didn't Peter say that anger was Derek's anchor? I figured that it would be hard for him to control the shift when he's not able to access that anger.'

'…and he can't do that right now because he's not feeling his feelings at the moment. You're right. That could potentially be dangerous.'

Derek's text:

_I'm serious. I'm doing this alone. _

Stiles' text:

_I can't stop you, can I?_

Derek's text:

_No._

Stiles' text:

_Okay then. Be careful._

Derek's text:

_Try not to worry about me._

Stiles' text:

_Worrying about you is kind of my job._

Derek's text:

_I'll be fine. Take a break._

Stiles' text:

_I don't want to. _

Stiles quickly told Scott about the reason for Derek's absence.

'So, it wasn't about the kiss at all,' Scott said. Stiles chuckled somewhat guiltily.

'No. Near meltdowns about nothing are fun, huh?'


	22. Falling

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 22: Falling**

Saturday evening.

'I'd hoped you'd talk to me this time,' Stiles said after the beep. He had been composing what he was going to say for hours now and, stupid voicemail be damned, he was going to deliver his message.

'I hate that you felt like you had to sneak away,' he continued. 'I really believed we were past that. We've been hanging out a lot lately, but I thought that was by mutual agreement. Maybe I read that wrong, so let me make this clear right now: the days of me forcing my company on you are over. Just tell me if you need anything. Even if what you need is not help, but time or space. Seriously, all you have to do is tell me and, if I can, I'll give it to you, okay?'

A few minutes later, he got a text from Derek.

_I need more time._

That was the last thing Stiles heard from him until Derek resurfaced one week later.

(***)

A week later. Saturday afternoon.

The house was spotless. Stiles' room was pristine. Everything that could be organised was. All this freedom was wasted on him. He simply didn't know what to do with spare time anymore. He had tried to get back into the rhythm of not-quite ordinary life. He'd spend a few evenings gaming with Scott. He'd watched a particularly lame TV movie with his dad. The problem was, of course, that summer didn't really have a rhythm.

The other problem was the Derek-shaped hole in Stiles' life. The werewolf's silence didn't help matters. As if it costs so much effort to send a text every once in a while, Stiles silently ranted. He had started out sad, but now he was mostly mad. Derek had better have a terrific explanation for his lack of communication. Stiles had refrained from texting him, though. He had _some _dignity, thank you very much.

'Stiles. Derek's here,' the sheriff announced, at the same time knocking and opening the door of Stiles' room to reveal Derek. In spite of all his anger, Stiles felt a wave of relief. Derek looked paler and thinner than usual, but otherwise fine. Not on the verge of collapse, anyway. Oh, it's so good to have him back, Stiles thought, before steeling himself.

'Thanks, dad,' he said, flopping down on the bed, without bothering to invite Derek in. They listened to the sheriff's receding footsteps. When Stiles couldn't hear his father's footsteps anymore, he addressed Derek with as much vitriol as he could muster.

'Has the full moon ended then? Already? So soon? You know, if I were you, I'd give it another week. Just to be safe. Gotta make sure that the full moon has properly ended. I wouldn't want to get in the way of you handling it. I wouldn't want to…'

'I didn't like it either, Stiles,' Derek interrupted. Never mind that - if 'it' meant spending time apart from each other - Derek had basically just admitted that he didn't like it when they were not together. I'm angry, Stiles reminded himself.

'Of course not. You don't like anything,' he snapped, losing steam halfway through. 'Hold up. Hold the phones. Stop the presses. Did you _actively _not like it?'

Derek nodded. He doesn't merely look pale and thin, Stiles noted. Derek looked uncomfortable in his own skin. Itching to get out of it, in fact. Incredibly tense.

'I don't like feeling like this,' Derek admitted. Like what? Stiles wondered, but he didn't immediately voice the thought. Depressed Derek dealt in vague and general things and you had to gently ease him into becoming specific. Stiles knew that much by now. Unfortunately, Stiles was also very impatient.

'Well, you don't get to pick what you'll feel,' he pointed out. 'Did you expect only awesome feelings? 'Cause that's not how this works.'

'I don't know what I expected. Not this.'

Burning with curiosity and incapable of taking the long way around any longer, Stiles blurted out the question.

'And what's _this_? Care to share?'

'Missing things,' Derek mumbled.

'People?' Stiles guessed. Derek tensed some more. It was a full-body movement. Everything tautened simultaneously.

'I told you that I needed more time,' he tersely responded. Stiles threw up his hands in frustration.

'Time for what? To do what? Why'd you stay away?' he demanded, raising his voice.

'Because I missed you.'

'So? I missed you too,' Stiles said, annoyed. What sort of alien logic was that? Oh, I miss you: better stay away from you. What the hell? Also, this was not a big deal, so why was Derek behaving like it was? Suddenly, Stiles sat up straight. He felt like he'd seen the light. Like he'd finally gotten a clue. This might not be a big deal for me, he realised; but it's a big deal for the emotionally dead.

'You're the saddest. It's alright to miss me, Derek,' Stiles assured him. Derek shook his head, violently rejecting this idea.

'I don't want to,' he protested. Stiles sighed. He half expected Derek to throw a tantrum, except he doubted that Derek had the energy for it.

'I don't see the problem,' Stiles stated, adding, 'You barely get a chance to miss me, anyway.'

'Missing you means I want you around,' Derek slowly and angrily clarified.

'Yeah, it means you want something,' Stiles agreed. 'And that in turn means: _feelings_, which is exactly what we're trying to accomplish here. If it's working, we're clearly doing something right. Seems to me like we're on the right track.'

'The right track is not me falling back in love with you!'


	23. Words are words

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 23: Words are words**

'_The right track is not me falling back in love with you!'_

'Dramatic much?' Stiles joked, trying to disguise the fact that his heart was hammering so loudly that he could barely hear himself speak.

'Don't give me any shit about this,' Derek warned, still looking tense as hell.

'I'm not,' Stiles protested. 'I wouldn't dare. I'm just saying: missing someone doesn't automatically mean that you're falling in love with them. Let's slow down and put things into perspective.'

'Why did I miss you then?' Derek demanded. His voice was low, taut. It felt supremely bizarre to always be attempting to talk him down when all Stiles wanted to do was yell: 'Jump! Love me!'

'How about because the last few weeks it's been you and me for pretty much 24/7? It's only natural that you'd miss me after that. Honestly, it would be weird if you _didn't_ miss me.'

'You think so?'

'Yup,' Stiles replied, nodding one, two, three, four, five times for emphasis. Derek regarded him warily. Stiles bounced off the bed and slung one arm around Derek's neck. Instead of tensing even further upon the touch – like Stiles had kind of expected - Derek's body stilled in a different way and he remained remarkably calm as Stiles finally ushered him into the bedroom.

Stiles sat him down in the chair in the corner and slipped his arm loose from around Derek's shoulders. By accident, Stiles brushed his fingertips across Derek's bare neck. The nubs of Derek's spine stood out there. Stiles could feel the bone just beneath the skin. It shocked him and reminded him again that Derek was way too skinny. As if preparing to talk to a kid, Stiles crouched in front of Derek.

'You have to stop making this bigger than it is. Missing someone you spend a lot of time with is normal. In my humble opinion, you've been having such an emotional dry spell that every emotion now probably feels like the most overwhelming feeling you've ever had, but, trust me, it's really not a big deal. You said it yourself, Derek. I'm better at feelings than you. You should listen to me,' Stiles suggested. Uncertainly, Derek nodded. Once, like he was not a true believer yet. He did appear a lot less wound up, though.

'Sometimes things just _are_,' Stiles added. 'Also, it would help if you acted a little less ridiculous. You say you want to feel things, but you flip your shit every time you do. What's up with that?'

Derek shrugged, as if he didn't know either. Suddenly, something occurred to Stiles. He wanted to work it out in his head before saying anything to Derek, so Stiles focused on more practical matters for the time being.

'You hungry?' he asked Derek. The man in question didn't answer, which Stiles decided to interpret as an affirmative.

'Come on, I'll make you a sandwich,' Stiles proposed. They trotted downstairs side by side with Stiles maintaining his end of their one-sided conversation.

'You look like you could use one. Have you been eating properly? How many times do I have to tell you? You've gotta eat. It's not like you've got fat to spare.'

'I eat,' Derek said, defensively.

'Oh yeah, what? Mangy rabbits?'

Derek scowled, but didn't object when Stiles started to fix him a huge sandwich – except to point out that he could do that himself.

'You clearly cannot. Otherwise you wouldn't be all skin and bones,' Stiles replied. Just as Derek tucked into the sandwich, the sheriff entered the kitchen.

'Stiles? A word,' the sheriff requested. Stiles nodded and they moved into the next room.

'What was that about him falling in love with you again?'

If it had been physically possible, Stiles' jaw would have dropped to the floor. As it was, he briefly gaped and then quickly clamped his mouth shut.

'You heard that?' Stiles asked. Well, duh, he immediately told himself.

'I'm not deaf, you know.'

'That was… He's not, though. Not really. He's just confused. He missed me and he thought that it meant that he was, but he's not. We worked it out and we've concluded that he's not. Falling in love with me, that is.'

Sighing, the sheriff rubbed at the spot in between his eyebrows.

'Just to be clear: at some point, Derek _was_ in love with you?'

'Yeah,' Stiles hesitantly confessed, waiting to see how his dad would react to this news.

'I'm not okay with that,' the sheriff stated. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say more, but that seemed to be the only thing he was capable of saying right then. Sternly, he capped that off with a curt nod, before wandering off in a daze. Okay, Stiles thought. He was sure that he was going to have to deal with his dad sooner or later, but for now he had bigger fish to fry. When he returned to the kitchen, Derek had wolfed down the food like the wolf he was. Leaning against the counter, Stiles scrutinised him for a moment.

'Hey, remember when we made a deal that you'd work on your issues and I'd help you by leaving you alone for a while? I didn't realise it until now, because we immediately got into a fight about me taking your notebook, but before all that _you _showed up in _my _room before the agreed upon length of time had passed. Did you miss me then too?'

All the tension flooded back into Derek's body. It wasn't the same as before, though. There was nothing angry about this tension; it was all awkward tension.

'You're embarrassed,' Stiles correctly guessed. 'You don't need to be. I'm not. And I'm forever missing you.'

'I might have,' Derek admitted, reluctantly. Stiles didn't think that was good enough and pushed.

'You either did or you didn't.'

'I probably did. So what?'

'You want to feel things; ergo, all feelings are good. Don't look so glum. We're finally getting somewhere.'


	24. Sleepsong

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 24: Sleepsong**

Saturday night. Stiles' room.

'You tricked me into falling in love with you,' Derek accused, pacing. He was aware of the fact that he was exhibiting the behaviour of a caged animal, but he had to move around. All he wanted to do was touch Stiles and he had to keep moving to make sure that he didn't give in to temptation.

'I did what?'

Derek resisted the urge to jab Stiles in the chest, because – however angry the gesture – that was touching and God only knew where that would lead.

'You are always around,' Derek pointed out. 'You provide playful banter. You are sharp and funny. You are nice, very nice, but not too nice.'

'Well, how dare I?' Stiles exclaimed, clearly mocking him. Derek's fingers itched to grab him and just slam him into something. Smash in his face. Bloody his lips. Lick off the blood. No, no, no, dammit!

'Who are you really mad at? Me? Or yourself?' Stiles asked, reaching out as if about to pat him on the shoulder. Quick as lightning, Derek got away from his hand. Contact was dangerous. Stupid. Like sticking your hand into a fire and expecting not to get burned.

'I can do both,' Derek growled. Irritated, he briefly closed his eyes. Sometimes that helped. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could almost believe that he was alright. When he opened them again, they were in the locker room of the Beacon Hills High School. It wasn't clear to him what they were doing there. Nor did he care.

'You're driving me crazy. You must know that,' Derek gritted out. He was fully hard now. Love is the package lust arrives in and the ribbons quickly come undone, he found himself thinking. Where the hell did that come from? One of Cora's favourite feminist writers, probably. She had bored him by constantly citing them when they were in South America. Derek had never figured out whether she really liked those quotes or whether she just liked annoying him. Why was he thinking about Cora right now?

'Like you're not the single most aggravating person to have ever existed,' Stiles countered. Feminist literature notwithstanding: it was impossible for Derek to ignore that this was more than lust. He thought that he could have handled something purely physical, but not this.

'Not like that,' Derek clarified. 'You turn me on.'

Unable to control himself any longer, he pushed Stiles flush against the lockers and kissed him. Touched every part of Stiles' body that he had wanted to touch for so long. Plunged his hands into Stiles' hair. Breathed in Stiles' scent. Bit Stiles' mouth softly. Sucked on Stiles' tongue. Bruised Stiles' skin by digging his fingers into Stiles' hips. Made Stiles entirely his.

'How come I need you so much?' Derek asked, pausing to look at Stiles. He might as well have asked why the Earth was round.

'Sometimes things just are,' Stiles replied. That rang a distant bell, but it didn't faze Derek. His loose teeth did, though. What if they just fell out? What if they broke off leaving the root behind to rot? He held his hands cupped in front of his mouth. What for, he didn't know. To catch them when they fell out? Fat lot of good_ that_ would do. You couldn't reattach a fucking tooth.

Slowly, his mouth filled up with blood. It felt warm and thick.

'Are you dying?' Stiles inquired, curiously detached.

'I feel like I am,' Derek said. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

'Dramatic much?' Stiles muttered, scornfully. That also sounded familiar somehow, but Derek couldn't place it.

'You've been lying to me,' Stiles then whined. 'You've got this sadness and you've been holding onto it. Worse: you've been hiding it from me. '

'Will you shut up?' Derek snapped. He tried to stem the flow of blood, but it seeped through his fingers. Wait, he thought. Even Stiles wasn't normally this obnoxious. And you didn't spontaneously start to bleed from the mouth unless you were a guest actor on House. This was a dream. It had to be. He grabbed Stiles' wrist and stared at his hand. I'm dreaming, Derek realised, struggling to feel relieved.

His mouth was empty. The blood was gone. There had never been any blood. It was a dream.

'This is great,' Derek concluded, dropping Stiles' hand. Except, it wasn't. That extra digit was like a taunt. None of it had been real. That hadn't been Stiles, clawing at his clothes. That hadn't been Stiles, wanting this – _him_ \- just as much as Derek wanted it. It was no use pretending that he didn't feel completely gutted.

'Strip,' Derek commanded. After all, once you know that you're dreaming, you're calling the shots. Stiles obeyed and began to undress. Derek took a step towards him and suddenly pitched forward. He abruptly jolted awake.

(***)

Sunday morning. The kitchen of the Stilinski house.

'Did you sleep well?' Stiles asked.

'Yeah… Why?' Derek replied, immediately suspicious.

'You were making noises,' Stiles remarked. It seemed like a casual comment, but was it maybe a little too casual? Derek studied Stiles, but he couldn't detect any signs of deception. Finally, he ventured a question.

'What kind of noises?'

Stiles smiled in that easy way of his.

'It kind of sounded like you were humming the theme song of House.'

(***)

'Love is the package lust arrives in and the ribbons quickly come undone' is a quotation from the book Puffball by Fay Weldon.


	25. Bad blood

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 25: Bad blood**

Sunday.

Something was up with Derek. Not the thing that was normally up with him. You know, emotionally constipated, wouldn't recognise good news if it danced naked in front of him singing 'good news is here again,' could be a total dick for no reason etc. etc. Something else.

Stiles being Stiles – fundamentally incapable of tiptoeing around sensitive issues – demanded to be told.

'Something's bothering you. Come on, spill.'

Derek turned towards him as if auditioning for the role of dramatic squirrel. Stiles felt like saying 'dun dun dun' to help him out, but was already too late. Derek was now just glaring. So, instead, Stiles briefly considered going with 'Hired! Get this man a squirrel costume' but then he couldn't remember whether it was actually a squirrel. Was it maybe a prairie dog? How stupid would he look if he made the squirrel costume joke and it turned out to be a prairie dog? Pretty stupid.

'It has nothing to do with what happened on the night before the full moon, do you hear me?' Derek yelled. Stiles immediately forgot all about rodents.

'Of course I hear you, Derek. You're shouting,' he calmly replied. 'What I find sort of strange is that I didn't say anything about the kissing. I didn't even allude to it. You brought it up. Out of the blue, I might add. This leads me to think that your attitude is maybe a little bit about what happened between us. It's the 'me thinks the lady doth protest too much' principle. When you insist that it's not about the kissing, it's kind of like admitting that it's all about the kissing.'

'I don't want your pity,' Derek said, apropos of nothing. Stiles tried to keep up.

'That's good, because I don't pity you.'

Derek dismissed that.

'How far are you going to take this? Are you going to let me fuck you because you feel sorry for me?' he taunted. Stiles thought: is that something you want? It was difficult to figure out the right thing to think in response to that; let alone the right thing to say.

'I hope it makes you feel good, knowing how much I adored you,' Derek sneered, as if Stiles was enjoying this. Oh, yeah, it was so awesome knowing that once upon a time Derek had been in love with him. Awesome, I tell you!

'Are you accusing me of something or are you asking me how I feel about you?' Stiles inquired. Okay, that was _not_ the right thing to say. Derek practically exploded.

'I keep putting myself out there and every time I do you barely respond. I say that I want you, I kiss you, I say that I miss you and your reaction is to make fun of me. All you've done since I first told you that I want you is make stupid jokes at my expense,' Derek claimed. Stiles shook his head.

'Ehm, you said that you _wanted_ me,' he corrected. 'As in: past tense. You kissed me and then you disappeared for a week. You said that you missed me, but that you didn't _want_ to miss me. And you may think that you want me to reciprocate, but you don't.'

Stiles paused to afford Derek to opportunity to deny it. Derek didn't, so Stiles decided to pester him a little.

'But what do I know? I could be wrong. Maybe you really want me to tell you how I feel about you. Do you? Do you want that?' Stiles asked. Derek hesitated and still didn't reply. Stiles continued.

'Let me answer that for you: no. No, you don't. Face it, Derek, you have no idea what you want. If you are interested in me it is only because you think that you can't have me. It's a new inventive way of yours to torture yourself. You keep needling me about a question you obviously don't want to know the answer to, because you're afraid that I might love you and then you'd have to love me back and that scares the hell out of you. I don't know why.'

That was some amazing analysing, Stiles complimented himself.

'You're right about the jokes, though,' he added. 'They're juvenile and insulting and I'll stop. From here on out, I promise that I won't joke anymore about the possibility of something happening between us.'

Derek nodded like he was satisfied. He probably was. Crisis averted. Situation defused to the point where I have staved off having to clarify my own feelings, Stiles lamented. _Again. _If ever there had been a moment for an 'I love you' that had been it and what had he done? Let the moment fly by. Because an 'I love you' was what Derek deserved, but it was not what he needed right now. Stiles smiled somewhat forlornly at that decent the Dark Knight reference and quickly changed the topic.

'And now for something completely different… Your clothes! I just realised that they're in your closet. In the _closet_. Where a normal person keeps them. Progress! High fives all around!'

'You're an idiot,' Derek said, rolling his eyes at Stiles' enthusiasm.

'That makes two of us.'


	26. Thinkin' ahead

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 26: Thinkin' ahead**

Monday morning.

'Do you like who you've become?' Derek asked. Stiles demonstratively and loudly closed the book he had been trying to read.

'That's the second time you've asked me that. If you've got something to say, why don't you just say it?' he demanded. Derek frowned and simply repeated himself.

'Do you like who you've become?'

It's a question instead of an accusation, Stiles finally understood. Switching gears, he thought about it briefly before answering.

'Yeah, I do, actually. Aside from the occasional existential crisis. Don't you?'

There was a look in Derek's eyes – right before Scott came in and interrupted them – and Stiles suddenly got it. He got why Derek had asked that question: because Derek was _interested_. Because he wanted to know how it felt to _like_ yourself. Because _he_ didn't. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure that Derek hated himself. Derek quickly looked away.

'Ready?' Scott inquired, oblivious to the awfulness that had just transpired. Immediately, Derek got up and made for the door. As if he was excited about going for a run when he hadn't been excited about anything for months.

'Wait,' Stiles said. He couldn't get over the absolute tragedy of Derek Hale not liking himself, but he also knew that he couldn't say anything about it. Not then, anyway. Not while Scott was there. Derek would bring down the bars and put up the walls. Seriously. You'd lose your fingers if you stood too close when Derek snapped shut.

So, consigned to silence for the moment, Stiles did the next best thing he could think of. He stood up, ignored Scott's questioning look and hugged Derek. It was not the best hug ever, because Stiles was kind of clumsy about it. It was more of a collide-and-grab affair than the soothing embrace Stiles had intended it to be.

And Derek made a noise between a growl and sigh, like he didn't know whether to be angry or annoyed. He didn't move away, though. Slowly, their breathing synchronised – like women's periods, Stiles thought, because his brain never _ever _shut up – and they leaned into each other. If I stepped away right now, he'd fall flat on his face, Stiles marvelled. Not that he was going to, of course, but, well, it showed that he wasn't the only one doing the leaning, didn't it?

'Are you going to let me go anytime soon?' Derek whispered, his chin tickling Stiles' shoulder. Stiles shrugged, aware that Derek could feel the movement. It might have started out as an amateurish hug, but it ended as a good one. Stiles squeezed one last time and relinquished the contact.

'Ready?' Scott said again, in a strange warbly voice. Stiles gave Scott the side-eye. Be normal, Stiles mentally instructed his friend. Don't act like this was weird or Derek will think that it was weird.

'He's ready,' Stiles replied.

'I will decide when I'm ready,' Derek petulantly objected. Status quo restored, Stiles thought. He apologised and told Derek to take his time. Derek took approximately one second before smirking and announcing that he was ready.

It was fun. Fun to be fucked with. Too bad that Stiles was already miles away to where he got Derek to admit that he didn't like himself and convinced the werewolf that he was awesome. It was going to be a bumpy ride.


	27. Weapon

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 27: Weapon**

Monday afternoon. Stilinski residence.

'Okay, I've got a plan. A plan of sorts. As always it has the potential to backfire horribly. Also, it's mean,' Stiles told Scott.

'Your plan is mean?'

'Well, I don't know. It feels mean to me. You know how, not so long ago, I told Derek that I'd leave him alone if he'd work on his issues? I'm kind of thinking about doing something the other way around this time. Use my presence instead of my absence as leverage,' Stiles elaborated. He remembered that it had felt wrong then too.

'That does sound mean,' Scott agreed.

'So I'm not a very nice person,' Stiles replied. 'I'm running out of options here. Derek asked me whether I like the person I've become. I didn't get that question at first, because I thought that it was a me-question. But it wasn't. It wasn't a question about me. It was a question about him. He was asking me whether I like myself, because he doesn't like people. And I don't mean other people. I mean _people_.'

'What's the difference?'

'He doesn't like anyone, including himself. Not in the normal way you sometimes don't like yourself either. I think that he doesn't like himself pretty much permanently. So, what I'm going to do is ask him and then he's not going to want to talk about it, because he never does. At which point I will say: 'Well, I'll be going then' and he will want me to stay, so to stop me from leaving he'll have to confide in me,' Stiles explained.

'Why would he want you to stay?' Scott asked.

'Because he misses me when I'm not there,' Stiles responded nonchalantly, as if this was common knowledge. Scott blinked.

'He said that?'

Stiles nodded, maybe a tiny bit smugly. He felt like he was entitled to a little smugness.

'You two are so confusing. Why can't you just tell him how you feel?' Scott inquired.

'You know why,' Stiles replied, once more giving the reason for not telling Derek about his feelings.

'It will probably do more harm than good. If I do, sooner or later he's going to get it into his head that it's the only reason I helped him. Then again, if I don't, he might think that I was pretending in some screwed up attempt to make him feel better. Anyway, for now I'm going to keep my mouth shut, since that's the scenario least likely to end up hurting Derek.'

'What if you're wrong, though? What if it helps him to hear you say it?' Scott speculated. God, he is precious, Stiles thought.

'In your head, every story ends like a fairy tale, right? They lived happily ever after. And no one died. The end. Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen here. I will admit that lately it _has _felt like Derek is daring me to come clean, without actually asking me, of course. It's like he's trying to get me to say it,' Stiles confessed.

'Then why don't you?' Scott suggested. Sweet, oblivious Scott. Did he really not understand the danger of tossing an 'I love you' grenade into the volatile mix that was Derek's depression?

'Because I don't know what will happen if I tell him and I don't want to be responsible for making him feel worse. Plus, we're doing fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go blackmail Derek into talking to me about how he hates himself.'


	28. U got the power

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 28: U got the power**

Monday afternoon. Derek's apartment.

Stiles wasn't very confident about his plan. It was very much possible that all his threat of leaving would accomplish was a disinterested shrug from Derek. Well, there was no time like the present to find out.

'You don't like yourself very much, do you?' Stiles asked as he entered Derek's apartment. Derek looked a little startled. Stiles' sudden appearance couldn't be the cause - since Derek's werewolf senses had undoubtedly warned him of Stiles' imminent arrival – so it had to be the words themselves.

'No comment,' Derek replied. Okay, this was it. Here we go, Stiles thought.

'Okay. Bye,' Stiles said, heading for the door.

'You just got here,' Derek quickly pointed out. Coming from him that was an incredible emotional appeal. Stiles couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome of his plan if Derek had been on his knees begging Stiles to stay. Hardening himself, Stiles turned to face Derek. He took special care to appear unwilling.

'There's no point in me being here, if you're not going to cooperate,' Stiles specified, already reaching for the door.

'We have a deal,' Derek stressed.

'You mean the one where you work on your issues and I leave you alone?' Stiles scoffed. 'I think that one was declared null and void a while back. If we had a new deal, which we don't, it wouldn't be: Derek gets to do whatever the hell he wants and Stiles has to put up with his shit. The deal would be that you try and I help you. And you would be breaking your end of it, because it's starting to seem less involuntarily and more like you're making a conscious effort to remain in this situation. Am I right? Do you want to stay like this? Are you choosing to bury your feelings?'

Derek didn't respond to that. Stiles nodded.

'I'm done. Good luck finding someone else.'

It was more of an ultimatum than Stiles had meant to present, but it worked. There was a rush of air and then Derek's hand was against the door; effectively holding it closed. Stiles felt a sense of excitement at the change in Derek's behaviour. It was so unlike Derek's passivity of late. Stiles looked up at him.

'Stay,' Derek forcefully said, adding a nearly inaudible, 'Please.'

As if suddenly realising how close they had actually been standing, Derek stepped back. Exuding - a not entirely feigned – annoyance, Stiles crossed his arms and spoke.

'Look, I don't like repetition. I get bored brushing my teeth. So, let's get this over with. Do you like yourself or not? It's a simple question.'

'No.'

'No, what?' Stiles demanded. They looked at each other. It was Derek at his most vulnerable, but the older man didn't avert his eyes.

'No, I don't like myself.'

Stiles nodded. Realising how Derek might interpret that, Stiles hastened to clarify his position.

'I don't agree, _obviously. _I did sort of expect this, though,' he admitted. It was a marginally better response than asking Derek why he didn't like himself. Small steps, Stiles reminded himself. He wasn't going to delve into that right now. He wasn't going to let Derek set the pace anymore, but it was still not smart to rush into things.

'Where would you have gone?' Derek inquired.

'Home,' Stiles replied. Derek seemed unhappy with that answer. Why? That was anyone's guess. Stiles couldn't even begin to grasp how Derek's mind worked.

'Shouldn't you be off with your friends doing whatever it is you do when you're not with me?' Derek proposed.

'And what would that be?' Stiles asked, puzzled. Derek looked away as if embarrassed.

'I don't know. Normal teenager stuff. Do you not want to do that instead of babysitting me?'

Amused, Stiles shook his head.

'What's this? It almost sounds like you care,' he joked. Derek instantly denied that.

'Why would I care? I don't care.'

'Shhh, relax. Don't fight it,' Stiles teased, laughing. Derek chuckled, grimacing like the act of indulging in even the slightest bit of fun was hurting him. It made Stiles feel powerless again. Abruptly, he stopped laughing. I'm trying my hardest, he thought, but it isn't enough, is it?

'Is something wrong?' Derek asked. Stiles managed a wry smile.

'Oh my _God. _I just realised something. You're going to fight this every step of the way, aren't you?'

Derek sighed.

'Maybe. I don't mean to. It's hard not to,' he explained. As hard as not knowing what to do? As hard as watching? Stiles wondered. It was like taking care of someone who was ill. It was not happening to you, but at the same time it kind of was. You were also suffering; in your own way.

'Especially…' Derek hesitated, but continued regardless. 'Especially because it's you.'

Stiles must have looked pretty shocked, because Derek immediately balked.

'Never mind,' he muttered. Slipping quickly back into his well-worn armour of apathy and lethargy, Derek distanced himself from their conversation and sat down on the couch. Stiles followed him; pleading all the while for Derek to elaborate.

'No, no, no. You can't just say that. Tell me what you mean.'

Stiles plucked at Derek's arm until Derek focused on him.

'I don't understand it, but that's how it is,' Derek angrily insisted. 'I can't feel a damn thing when it comes to anything else. Why is that? Why is it that everything I feel has to do with you?'

Because you love me, you idiot, Stiles thought. He had no idea whether he was fooling himself or whether that was really true. Love was a difficult emotion. Anger, jealousy, lust were all a lot easier and a lot more likely to resurface before love. But it had to mean _something_, right? Stiles was at a loss. He couldn't even make a joke; he'd promised Derek he wouldn't about this. So, he did the logical thing: he winked.

'People who value their lives don't wink at me,' Derek softly said. Unperturbed by the menace contained in Derek's words – it was weak sauce anyway – Stiles gleefully clapped.

'And, after a long absence, the threats are back! I missed them. It's really not the same, though, without the ripping of the throat with the teeth and all that. That's my favourite, by the way. Can't beat that one. Golden oldie. Timeless classic.'


	29. Stop & stare

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 29: Stop &amp; stare**

Monday night.

What once would have been anger was now mere annoyance. Derek examined the feeling, but it refused to turn into anger. He was irked. _Really _irked, but, still, only irked. He knew that, in love with Stiles or not, he would have been furious if Stiles had tried to pull this on him in the past.

And afraid. Let's not forget the fear, Derek thought. In the past, the thought of letting someone in would have been enough to make him panic and leave. Yet, here he was. Not running. Not even thinking about running.

He was just going to do it. When Stiles asked why he hated himself, he would tell him why. If he knew Stiles – and he thought that he did – Stiles had already figured it out, anyway. After all, it was in the poems. Derek grinned. He knew he should be embarrassed about those. He probably would have been embarrassed about them if he could have managed to feel that.

It didn't matter. Feelings came and went. They were fleeting and none of them were strong. All he had these days were tiny emotions that didn't last. Like pinpricks.

Due to his dearth of feeling, Derek couldn't come up with a reason not to talk about his self-loathing. There would be no pain, no guilt, except the memory of those emotions. No matter what Derek threw at him, Stiles wasn't the kind of person who abandoned a friend in need. It was a thing Derek thought he may have feared if fear was a thing he'd still felt in a halfway convincing way.

Derek raised himself up on his elbows and trained his wolf vision on a sleeping Stiles. His sleep appeared to be uneasy; his face was never at rest. Derek felt his body grow hot while he watched Stiles. Ah, desire. It was good to feel that, at least. Derek hadn't felt that for a long time until Stiles began to pester him about spending time together. Now it wouldn't go away.

I love him, Derek experimented, lowering himself to the floor again and turning onto his back. I love Stiles, he thought. That rang false. Do I love him? Derek wondered. He shook his head and felt sad for a second, but not sad enough. I know it isn't love, he acknowledged. There was nothing fleeting about love.

It felt a little strange to think that. What had happened to: love is fickle? Everyone leaves, Derek had believed. Except Stiles. Stiles was proving him wrong by staying. And making Stiles stay mattered, somehow. _Stiles_ mattered. The thing Derek felt for Stiles might not have been love, but it was there. Nearly constantly. So, what was it?

I care about him, Derek amended. That was true. Most of the time, he added. That was better. The truth was that he would have given the world to love Stiles, but he didn't. _Couldn't_. Love was beyond him. Derek knew this. He was as incapable of feeling love right now as he was of feeling real anger or fear or sadness.

Derek was sure of this because if he could have loved anyone, it would have been Stiles.


	30. It's time

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 30: It's time**

Tuesday morning.

'Do you want to talk about the whole not liking yourself thing?' Stiles offered, as they were sitting across from each other eating breakfast.

'Alright,' Derek replied. Stiles was expecting a refusal, so he didn't even hear Derek agreeing.

'Okay, let's start over,' Stiles proposed, pausing there for effect. 'Derek, we're going to talk about the whole not liking yourself thing.'

'I said alright. Just not right now,' Derek retorted.

'Yes, now,' Stiles said. Honestly, he was just arguing for the sake of arguing at this point, because he didn't understand how they'd gotten from 'no comment' to 'not now' so fast. Derek was capitulating already?

'No. If we're going to talk about that, we're going to talk about it tonight,' Derek decided. Stiles blinked at the speed with which everything was suddenly happening.

(***)

Tuesday night.

Morning had turned into afternoon, afternoon into evening and now evening had become night. They were sitting on the couch; neither of them paying attention to the movie that was on. Stiles was itching to talk, but Derek was the one who brought it up.

'Do you want to discuss…?'

'I do. I really do,' Stiles quickly responded. Derek nodded.

'Where do you want to do this?' he asked. Stiles shrugged.

'Wherever. Whatever you want.'

Derek sighed and indicated the bedroom. Following Derek's lead, Stiles also started to prepare for bed. They changed into their sleepwear without talking to each other. Derek turned off the light and settled on the floor. Stiles got into bed.

'What exactly do you want to talk about?' Derek inquired.

'Why you don't like yourself,' Stiles suggested. Derek snorted, as if that should have been obvious.

'I've done truly horrible things. At best, I'm a waste of space. At worst, I ruin everyone's life,' he summed up. It sounded awfully final. Like there was no room for argument. However, Stiles wouldn't have been Stiles if he had just accepted that line of bullshit.

'You're kidding, right? You may be a little rough around the edges, but you're mostly awesome,' Stiles declared. Unable to stomach any praise, Derek snorted again and issued a warning.

'Don't lie.'

Annoyed, Stiles responded immediately.

'I'm not. I always think you're great, Derek. When you say something cruel or do something stupid, I just think: why is that great guy doing that?'

'You're delusional,' Derek replied, laughing in the bleakest way.

'What's your obsession with proving me wrong?' Stiles demanded, increasingly irritated. 'Yeah, can't have someone thinking that you're great. Can't have that.'

Derek didn't dispute that. Stiles waited until his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and he could make out the shape of Derek on the floor before continuing.

'Do you at least understand why you _shouldn't _feel that way about yourself?' Stiles ventured.

'Seems perfectly natural to me. I am worthless and…'

'No, you aren't,' Stiles interrupted. 'And you don't get to hate yourself. You don't get to write depressing poems about how much you suck. It's not right. You're not like, like… Peter! He's terrible. He should hate himself. But not you. You've got this idea of who you are and, I swear, it could not be more wrong.'

It was suddenly very frustrating to not be able to see Derek's face during all of this, so Stiles reached for the light.

'Don't do that,' Derek ordered. Startled, Stiles stopped.

'Why are we doing this in the dark, anyway?'

'Because you said I could do this however I wanted,' Derek pointed out. 'I don't like it when others look at me closely. It forces me to look at myself closely and I don't like what I see.'

He is speaking figuratively, Stiles realised. Yet, Derek was letting him do this.

'You're surprisingly open about this, though,' Stiles marvelled. 'And very calm. How can you be so calm about this?'

'Not feeling my feelings, remember?'

'Except you hate yourself.'

'There's that, yes,' Derek admitted. Stiles thought about a way to get rid of Derek's self-loathing. What he was doing clearly wasn't working, which wasn't surprising. After all, it is rarely helpful to hear someone else tell you something about yourself when you feel otherwise. Somehow Derek needed to see what Stiles saw. Derek needed to get to know himself and learn to like himself again.

'You should date yourself,' Stiles murmured. That's a fantastic idea, Stiles thought.

'Have you finally snapped?' Derek asked. Stiles nodded until he realised that Derek might not actually be looking at him and in that case his werewolf vision was useless.

'No, I'm serious,' Stiles insisted. 'Dating yourself is exactly what the doctor prescribes. And, yes, I realise that sounds like it should be the title of a shitty self-help book.'

Derek didn't react very well to this advice.

'Of course. Since no one else wants to date me,' he stated without inflection. That statement was so full of self-pity that Stiles couldn't help himself: he rolled his eyes. He hesitated only a second before replying.

'I'd date you.'

'Sure,' Derek scoffed. Stiles reached for the light switch and – ignoring Derek's protests – turned on the light.

'Yeah, sure!' Stiles yelled, blinking rapidly in order to know in which direction to yell. 'I told you I'd stop making jokes about us, so why are you so positive that I'm insincere?'

'Because you have to be lying. You'd _date_ me? Why the hell would you say that? What is wrong with you? Clearly, there is something wrong with you, because you are either lying or stupid. Why the fuck would you want to date me?' Derek demanded while pacing. There was a lot of pent-up something in his aggressive steps. It was all very emotional for a man who claimed to lack emotions.

Stiles couldn't postpone it any longer. There were only so many times he could evade and escape and he had used them all up. It was time to tell the truth.

'Because I love you. Moving on.'


	31. Locked out of heaven

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 30: Locked out of heaven**

Still Tuesday night.

There was no moving on, of course.

'If I find out you're pretending to love me...' Derek growled. He was grasping for anger, but it wasn't all that convincing.

'Yeah, you got me there,' Stiles mocked. 'I'm after the Hale family fortune. Derek, listen to me. When I kissed you? That was me at my most selfish. I was definitely not pandering to your needs at that particular moment. I was just thinking about what I wanted. Dude, I am _so_ in love with you.'

Before Derek could voice another objection or half-hearted threat, Stiles continued.

'You don't love me back? That's fine. There are no conditions. I will love you. Trust me. It's like we're married, okay? And I take my vows very seriously. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. It doesn't matter what you do, I will love you.'

'You don't love me,' Derek retorted. 'I know that you regret kissing me.'

'Oh, you _know_ that, do you?' Stiles snapped.

'Well, don't you?'

'No. Not the way you mean, anyway. I regret the how and the when. Not the kiss itself.'

Stiles could see that Derek still didn't believe him, so he did the only thing he could think of: he got up from the bed and kissed Derek. Derek did nothing. He just didn't react at all. It wasn't until Stiles pulled back that Derek came to life to deliver a shocker.

'Sleep with me,' he said.

'Yeah, that's not happening,' Stiles replied, sounding way more together than he felt.

'Why not?'

'Because... Seriously, I love you and I would love to have sex with you, but I need it to be _you. _I need you to be all there. I need to know for sure that you really want this too. So, I'd rather wait and do it right.'

Derek didn't respond. He was now displaying real anger, which was good. It was the simmering, threatening to boil over kind of anger and Stiles was enjoying it way more than he should. He probably shouldn't. Who knew what Derek would do? Except, Derek didn't do much of anything with his fury. He turned off the light; leaving Stiles to fumble his way back to the bed.

'Good night,' he mumbled.

'Good night,' Derek echoed, sounding incredibly pissed off.

(***)

Wednesday morning.

Stiles woke up to Derek packing his duffel bag. Once he recognised what was happening, Stiles was wide awake.

'You're leaving,' he said. It wasn't a question. Obviously, Derek was leaving. It wasn't laundry day. There was no other reason for him to pack his bag.

'I am,' Derek admitted. 'I intend to, yes.'

Stiles sighed. See, he thought; I knew being honest would backfire.

'You keep doing this. You keep disappearing on me,' he complained. Derek looked up. He didn't seem angry anymore. Merely calm. Already in the process of leaving everything behind, Stiles guessed.

'Stiles…' Derek started, but Stiles didn't let him finish.

'You know that you can't get away from your feelings, right? Don't do this, Derek. Seriously, _don't_.'

Derek stopped shoving clothes into his bag and smiled.

'I want you to come with me,' he stated.

'Huh?' Stiles managed, too dumbfounded to form an actual word, let alone a whole sentence that made sense.

'Come with me.'


	32. Are you sure?

**Other People's Heartache**

**Chapter 32: Are you sure?**

'I can't leave! My dad would be devastated and he wouldn't survive a day without me. Ditto Scott. Plus, no matter how much I don't like it, I've got school.'

'We'll be back before school starts.'

'We'll be back?' Stiles echoed. Okay, now he was officially confused.

'You thought I was asking you to run away with me? Forever?' Derek asked. He sounded amused, as if that was ridiculous. Stiles had the distinct feeling that it wasn't; that leaving alone had been plan A and taking him along plan B. What was happening right now was, at best, plan C. Annoyed, he grumbled.

'If you'd learned to communicate like a normal person, I'd maybe understand what you are asking of me. Instead, you pack all furtively during the night as if you're planning to quietly slip away and expect me to understand, _what_? What areyou asking?'

'To come with me on a… you know,' Derek said. Stiles rolled his eyes.

'I think we just established that I don't know. That I, in fact, don't have a clue what you're talking about.'

'I thought we could take a trip?' Derek proposed. It was a tentative suggestion and Stiles had a hard time hiding how adorable he found the whole thing.

'Just the two of us,' Derek added.

'I got that part,' Stiles replied, smirking. 'Okay. Road trip! I mean, it _is _a road trip, right? Or do you want to reach our destination by foot? Is hiking a thing that you do?'

(***)

Everything happened slowly after that. Derek was packed and ready to go. Stiles very much wasn't. He needed to get something from his dad. Not permission. Something much harder to obtain: acceptance.

'I'll be with Derek. He's an adult,' Stiles argued.

'Barely. And you said yourself that he's going through something right now,' the sheriff replied.

'Something I'm helping him get through, which I can't do if he leaves and I stay here,' Stiles pointed out. That was when Scott barged into his bedroom.

'What's this about you taking a trip with Derek?' Scott asked, not exactly out of breath, but definitely like he'd gotten a good work out.

'You try and talk some sense into him,' the sheriff pleaded, exiting stage left to go stew somewhere else. As soon as his dad was gone, Stiles hauled a travel bag from his closet and started to pack. Scott sat down on the bed. He showed no signs of gearing up for sense-talking.

'How do you even know we're taking a trip?' Stiles asked. He immediately answered his own question. He probably saw Derek waiting in the car downstairs and talked to him, Stiles thought.

'Your dad put it on the app.'

Stiles paused in the midst of stuffing socks into his bag.

'He, what? On what app?'

'The Save Stiles &amp; Derek app,' Scott said.

'Why don't I know anything about this?' Stiles demanded. 'And why is my name in there? What do I need saving from?'

'Yourself, mostly,' his best friend joked. Stiles made a face that indicated his lack of amusement and debated what else to pack. He decided to take all the socks. He would have taken all his clothes, but the bag was already looking pretty full. Plus, he didn't know where they were going or how long they were going to stay there. These were the kind of things you asked when your unhinged crush invited you along on a road trip, but Stiles hadn't asked a single question. Oh, no wait, he'd nailed down Derek's hiking habits. He was an idiot. Deflated, he sat next to Scott.

'Are you okay?' Scott asked. 'You look tired. You both look tired. Are you sure this is working? Or is Derek dragging you down with him?'

'I don't know. I'm scared to let him go alone,' Stiles confessed.

'What do you think will happen?'

'It's not that I don't think he'll come back. It's that I'm afraid of what he'll do to himself in the meantime,' Stiles said. Scott nodded, as if he had expected something like this.

'I get that. And it's not like I don't care about Derek; I just care more about you. I really don't like this trip. I don't think it's a good idea,' Scott explained. It came from the right place, yet it irritated Stiles a little.

'Don't you think I know that?' he snapped. 'Of course it's a stupid idea. But he asked me to go, so I'm going.'

(***)

That Wednesday afternoon, Beacon Hills was in their rear view mirror. Stiles watched it disappear with a queasy feeling in his stomach. When they'd left everything remotely familiar behind, he turned to Derek.

'Can we talk about the leaving thing?' Stiles asked.

'What about it?' Derek said. He looked different. Better with every mile they put between them and their home town.

'You were going to leave and never come back,' Stiles stated. Derek glanced at him in the mirror and then back at the road. He didn't say anything.

'I know you,' Stiles continued. 'That was your plan. You just changed your mind, for some reason. Am I wrong?'

Derek shook his head. Stiles released the breath he had been holding and let the silence be. Let Derek fill it, he thought. Let Derek explain. Finally, Derek did.

'You're not wrong. I meant to vanish, but, at the last moment, I couldn't do it,' he admitted.

'What made you change your mind? Was it me? It was me, wasn't it?' Stiles needled, prepared for an outburst of faux anger that never came. Instead, Derek smiled again and nodded. It was wonderful. Maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all, Stiles thought, while he smiled back. Maybe everything would turn out alright.

'What colour are your eyes, anyway?' he asked, straining against his seat belt to get a good glimpse of them.

'What?' Derek muttered, frowning at this sudden onslaught of attention.

'Not the werewolf glowy thing,' Stiles clarified. 'I'm talking about your normal eyes. Are they, like, green? But with specks of gold or something? They're not just your regular green, are they?'

Derek swivelled to face him; apparently trying to ascertain if he was being serious. Stiles levelled a big smile his way. With his composure thoroughly ruffled, Derek concentrated on the road again and told Stiles to shut up.


	33. The driver

**Other People's Heartache**

**Chapter 33: The driver**

The change that had come over Derek during the drive was remarkable. Just… _zero _tension. It was really something to behold. Though – when Stiles thought about it – the transformation hadn't happened while driving. It had taken place before that.

'How do you feel?' Stiles inquired. 'You seem different.'

Derek didn't answer right away, so Stiles took the chance to study him some more. Yep, his shoulders were loose but not slack. The expression on his face was still a little bit guarded, but nowhere near as closed off as it had been. His manner was easy.

'I guess what I'm feeling right now is relief,' Derek said. He thought about that for a while and amended his answer to:

'Yeah, relief. Plus, pain.'

The pain was apparently an afterthought. At least, that was how it sounded. 'And of course,_ like always, _I'm in pain, but you knew that already.' Naturally, Stiles hadn't known. Surprise!

'Physical pain?' he asked, hopefully. Derek shook his head curtly and glanced sideways at his upset passenger.

'I didn't mean to make you worry. It's nothing, really. You shouldn't worry about it,' Derek instructed. Stiles rolled his eyes.

'Well, phew, concern averted. Except, wait, that's not how emotions work and I'm totally worried now.'

'Is it helpful to say that I'm used to it?' Derek offered.

'That is like the opposite of helpful.'

Derek shrugged. Despite the pain, he still looked different in a good way. More like himself. Not like the old Derek, though. To some degree, tension had been a permanent part of that Derek. As if relaxing for even a second would mean death.

'You wanna make me feel better?' Derek proposed. Stiles nodded.

'Sleep with me,' Derek suggested again.

'Oh my God!' Stiles exclaimed. 'That is so very, very much _not _going to happen.'

'I thought we could get it over with,' Derek explained, which only made it sound worse. Because, sex with Derek: not something Stiles wanted to 'get over with.' Hiding his stupid hurt feelings, Stiles let loose the sarcasm.

'Lovely phrasing. See, that is one of the many reasons it ain't happening. Another one is that it wouldn't make you feel better.'

'Debatable, but alright,' Derek replied.

They drove in silence for a few miles. Stiles tried to think of a way to express his desire to help Derek without resorting to corny gooeyness. He didn't succeed. At all.

'I just want to hold you and make your pain go away,' he said, cringing as he said it. Derek didn't make a disgusted face. He didn't even roll his eyes. He quietly and without reserve accepted the sentiment.

'I know you do.'

It was such a perfect Han Solo-ish response that Stiles almost wanted to applaud. How cool was Derek? Was he really that aware of the extent of Stiles' feelings? And was he as okay with them as he wanted Stiles to believe? Staring hard at Derek, Stiles started to quasi-interrogate him.

'And that doesn't freak you out? 'Cause it really freaks me out.'

Derek's lips curved into a smile. That was… _how _many smiles now? Stiles had lost count. Enough smiles to last old Derek, the sourwolf, a year.

'It probably should,' Derek acknowledged. 'It should; it doesn't. Maybe it is because I'm light on feelings at the moment, but I don't think so. I think that I'm comfortable with how you feel about me.'


	34. Died in your arms

**Other People's Heartache**

**Chapter 34: Died in your arms**

Wednesday afternoon.

'Since when do you need glasses?' Derek asked when Stiles was in the middle of trying out another pair and checking his new look in a nearby mirror. They were at a megastore shopping for last minute supplies. Stiles had already bought a handy notebook for psychoanalyst purposes.

'I don't. It's for that authentic therapist touch,' Stiles explained, affecting a serious expression and looking over the rim of the glasses at Derek's reflection. Derek rolled his eyes.

'Very funny.'

'I thought so,' Stiles pleasantly replied.

Somehow they ended up in an aisle of the store that featured nothing but picture frames. Stiles noticed that Derek's mood took a sudden nose dive. His face took on that familiar blankness as he poked listlessly at a bunch of picture frames complete with stupid stock photos. Stiles came to stand next to him, picked up one of the frames and studied the photo. It featured a blond family: mom, dad, son, daughter; all laughing about something.

Stiles watched Derek, who was scowling at a similar photo. Stiles felt like he had stumbled onto something here. Derek's family – or rather, his lack of a family – could that be a contributing factor to Derek's current condition? Was that why they had left Beacon Hills? Because of all the memories there? Putting back the picture frame, Stiles shelved this idea for later.

'Are you coming?' he prodded. Absentmindedly, Derek nodded and followed him to the checkout counter. The moment they set foot outside, Derek was in high spirits again, which was still so weird. Amazing but weird. Another amazing thing happened when they were standing in the parking lot. Stiles had forgotten where the car was parked. It was a thing he did: forget the most basic stuff. It was a pain in the ass. Derek grabbed his hand to guide him in the right direction and for a second they were absolutely holding hands. Then Derek seemed to realise what he was doing and quickly let go.

'You're right,' Stiles said, smirking. 'Let's not do this dirty handholding business in front of people.'

(***)

Thirty minutes later. On the road again.

'They suck, huh?' Stiles said. Derek side-eyed him, uncomprehending.

'Those photos,' Stiles elaborated. 'Picture perfect families. Everyone beautiful; everyone happy. And here we are with our incomplete families. At least I have my dad. All you have is Peter, Malia and Cora. Yeah, technically you may have more family than me, but yours basically consists of a creeper, a surprise relative whom you don't really know and a presumed dead until recently sister, who's halfway across the world and who you also don't really know.'

'You always know just what to say to cheer me up,' Derek retorted. 'I'm not jealous of something that isn't real.'

'Sure, big guy. Sure,' Stiles murmured. It was kind of funny how much Derek revealed by simply denying things. Stiles suspected that his inability to hide stuff had to do with the Derek's rawness. His resistance wasn't entirely gone, but he'd lost the ability to lie convincingly.

After a few hours, Derek turned the car into a road that barely deserved to be called a road and stopped. Without saying a word, he started to unload their baggage. Stiles got out of the car too and surveyed their surroundings. It felt like they were miles away from civilization; only the noise of cars to remind them that there _was _a civilization. Where were they going?

'Where are we going?' he inquired, because sometimes it was important to actually ask questions instead of just thinking them.

'Pinnacles,' Derek responded. He was setting aside a little for Stiles to carry, but shouldering most of it himself.

'The National Park? That one? We're going camping?' Stiles realised, baffled. Derek glanced at him with raised eyebrows. It was the vintage Derek 'Are you an idiot?' look. Stiles had _not _missed it.

'How was I supposed to know we were going camping?' he protested.

'I bought outdoor gear at the store. What did you think I was doing?' Derek asked.

'I never know what you're doing,' Stiles replied. The truth was that he hadn't really been paying attention. He'd been wondering about the positive change in Derek. Was that because of him? Had Scott been right? Had telling Derek about his feelings been the right thing to do? It was great that Derek was finally taking charge and feeling somewhat comfortable, but if everything was so awesome at the moment then why did it still feel like Derek was running away from something?

'Why can't we stay at a motel?' Stiles suggested. He was not good at nature.

'Because we're going camping.'

Stiles sighed.

'Because staying at a motel is disgusting when you have a well-developed sense of smell. Which I do,' Derek explained, relenting a little.

'You should have told me,' Stiles complained, jealously eyeing Derek's duffle bag. 'I would have packed differently. It's not fair that I only get to take the bare essentials and you can take your whole life.'

'You sure you envy me? My life fits into one bag,' Derek pointed out. He handed Stiles a couple of light supplies before adding another bag to his own already impressive load and setting out.

'When you put it like that…' Stiles reluctantly agreed. He wasn't carrying much, but still he had trouble keeping up with Derek.

'Can we do this? Shouldn't we pay an entrance fee or something?' Stiles asked, finding comfort in mundane questions.

'I've got an annual pass,' Derek disclosed. Huh, Stiles thought.

'Aren't we supposed to stick to the trail?' he asked a little while later when Derek veered off course. Okay, the trail they had been following hadn't appeared to be manmade to begin with, but even an animal trail was something. Stiles did not relish getting lost here. Derek paused to give him a lengthy appreciative look.

'You should probably question what I do a little more,' he joked, but it came across like a real warning. As if he wanted Stiles to be wary of him. He then proceeded to read a compass; looking like the poster boy for dependability. Tickled, Stiles laughed.

'I trust you,' he replied. 'Like you trust me. Don't deny it. You do. You totally trust me!'

'That doesn't mean that you should trust me. I'm unstable,' Derek grumbled, which only caused Stiles to laugh even harder.

(***)

Wednesday evening.

They walked until Stiles was unable to take another step. Derek took pity on him and set up the tent by himself and cooked them hamburgers on a hastily built campfire.

'Can we just camp anywhere? Are we allowed to make a fire?'

'No,' Derek admitted. 'But you trust me, don't you?'

Touché, Stiles thought. He estimated that they hadn't gotten far into the park. Yet, the absence of human sound was overwhelming. Stiles basked in the deep quiet. He had a feeling that the night sky would be exceptionally dark here too. Nature: not so bad after all?

'No one knows where we are,' Derek suddenly announced. He obviously didn't think that was a creepy thing to say.

'Maybe try to sound less like a serial killer?' Stiles suggested. 'I mean, what is that even? Are you threatening me? Cause it sounds like you are.'

Derek smiled at that. It was his first genuine smile since visiting the store that afternoon.

'No one can hear you scream,' Stiles whispered. That elicited a chuckle from Derek. Time for real talk, Stiles decided.

'I know that you prefer solitude, so why'd you take me?'

'I've gotten used to you, I guess.'

'High praise,' Stiles mocked, nonetheless feeling a little pleased. He eyed the tent. Singular. One tent. For the both of them. If Derek thought that was gonna lead to sex than he was going to be disappointed. Was that what the warning had been about?

'Want to watch the sunset?' he proposed. He was sure that it was beautiful and there wasn't a whole lot else to do, but maybe that was the point. Now they almost _had _to talk.

'No thanks,' Derek answered. 'I've seen it.'

Stiles shrugged, swatted the air and scratched the inside of his wrist. You know, the outdoors had a few things going for it. However, it also had insects. Most egregiously: stinging insects.

'I'm a bug magnet,' Stiles groused, contemplating a fresh welt on his arm. He hoped that Derek had brought insect spray or he was going back to Beacon Hills a mental patient. Itches drove Stiles crazy.

'Here,' Derek said, getting up. Stiles expected him to go get said spray. Instead, Derek rubbed himself all over Stiles. He raked his hands over every inch of Stiles' exposed skin; covering Stiles' arms, his neck and – more gently – his face.

'What are you doing?' Stiles asked, his voice muffled because Derek's fingers were on his lips. Derek stepped back and then, apparently unsatisfied, he tilted towards Stiles again and brushed his right cheek against Stiles' face. Stiles closed his eyes as the tip of Derek's nose bumped into his own nose softly. The werewolf's breath ghosted across his cheek and ear. Stiles shivered despite his body being suffused with warmth.

'Taking care of your bug problem. You're welcome,' Derek finally said, casually sitting back down. Stiles swallowed and tried to catch his breath. He touched his face. It was still tingling from Derek's stubble. Stiles couldn't formulate a response. Honestly, he doubted that he could speak. That might have been the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to him.


End file.
